The Greatest of These
by Dark Aegis
Summary: When you seem to have lost everything, how do you move on?  An AU story set shortly after 'The Long Game'.
1. Chapter 1: The Fall

**Title:** The Greatest of These  
**Author:** Gillian Taylor  
**Character/Pairing:** Rose Tyler, the Doctor  
**Rating:** PG-13 (violence)  
**Summary:** When you seem to have lost everything, how do you move on?  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.

**A/N:** Written as part of the First Sentence Challenge on the LJ community Time and Chips. Kudos to faythbrady for the first sentence. Thanks, as always, to my fabulous betas WMR, NNWest & Aibhinn. This is a what-if story, so it goes very AU after _Long Game_.

* * *

**The Greatest of These  
by Gillian Taylor**

**Chapter 1: The Fall**

_**"Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison."**_**  
- Henry David Thoreau**

The blood on her shaking hands was not her own. She thought she'd seen the worst of humanity in the form of a lying, scheming scrap of skin that had killed so many people. She thought that she'd seen the most terrible things in the universe – Slitheen, Gelth, Daleks, death.

She was wrong.

She kept her hands pressed against the Doctor's wounds, terrified that he was dying. God, there was so much blood.

"Why'd you do this? He was tryin' to help!" she shouted at their captors, though she knew the strength of her words was lessened by the tremor in her voice.

"He's an alien. We don't need his kind of help," the man – a Colonel Shanks – snarled. "Step away from him."

"What? So you can kill him? I'm not leaving him!" She wanted to shift, to put her body between the Doctor and the weapons held by Shanks' men, but she didn't dare. If she moved, if she released the pressure on the wound, he'd lose more blood. She tried to take comfort from the feel of the Doctor's heartsbeats beneath her palms. As long as she could feel his pulse, she could delude herself into believing that he'd survive this, that he'd be fine.

"You don't have a choice."

Suddenly, rough hands were pulling her away from the Doctor. The instant the pressure left his injuries, fresh blood welled to the surface of the wounds, deepening the colour of his maroon jumper.

"Let me go!" She tried to fight back, tried to escape, but the man holding her was too strong. No matter how she kicked, how she tried to hurt him, his grip didn't loosen.

"Do you know what we do with alien sympathisers?" Shanks asked.

"'S that a threat? Not very original, really," she said, mind racing as she desperately tried to determine some way of getting herself out of this particular mess.

"You will become like them. A slave." Shanks aimed a kick at the Doctor's unconscious form.

"No! Leave him alone!" she cried, but she knew that the colonel wasn't listening.

This was all her fault. If she hadn't helped that woman – the blue-skinned one who reminded her of Raffalo – none of this would've happened. How was she to know that this century's humans were prejudiced gits who didn't want anything to do with aliens? How was she to know that anything or anyone alien was a slave and wasn't to be talked to or helped? How was she to know that helping someone who was injured was a punishable offence?

Now the Doctor was paying for her ignorance. No, she corrected herself, not paying. Dying.

Something cold was pressed against the skin of her neck and she stiffened. At Shanks' nod, she felt a sharp prick accompanied by a hissing noise. The world spun around her as the drug began to take effect.

"Wha-?" she slurred the word, barely able to make her tongue and mouth work properly.

The last thing she saw before her eyes slid shut was Shanks' oily smile. The last thing she heard before unconsciousness swept over her was the colonel's cold voice, ordering the Doctor's death.

She heard nothing more.

* * *

There was an insistent buzzing noise somewhere near her right ear. Irritated, she swatted at it, trying to shut off the alarm. "It's not time to get up, Mum," she muttered, not quite awake. 

That was when the memory returned. The Doctor's body, bloodied. The stain on her hands. The Colonel's cruel smile. "Doctor!" she said as she opened her eyes.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of her surroundings. She was in a small room – cage, she realised, when she spotted the bars lining one wall. The buzzing noise was coming from what looked like a speaker grill inlaid into one of the walls.

A few seconds later, the sound stopped and she could hear other noises around her, as though a number of people were beginning to stir. "Hello?" she tried hesitantly. What the hell had happened?

There was Shanks. And… She'd been drugged! Oh, hell. How was she to find the Doctor now?

"Quiet!" someone called.

"My name's Rose. My friend's been-"

"I said shut it! They'll hear you. If you value your life, keep quiet!" The obvious fear in the person's – woman's?– voice caused her to bite her lower lip, discouraged.

The clamour of thoughts that whirled through her mind practically demanded to be shared. The only way she had to survive, to find the Doctor, was to find out where she was. She needed information. But in this place, simply judging by the fear in that person's voice, information might be the one thing she couldn't have.

"Where am-?" she began, but cut herself off the instant she heard the clang of metal somewhere outside the confines of her cell. Around her, the other noises she'd heard, the indications of life outside this tiny room, ceased, dampening the surroundings with an expectant and fearful hush.

There were sounds now. The clump-clump of booted feet, the jangle of metal, the heavy breaths of someone moving closer. Each sound seemed to grow more ominous, more deadly, as those steps drew closer to her cell. Her fingers curled into a fist as she pressed herself against the solid strength of the wall, staring through the bars.

She told herself that she wasn't scared. She told herself that there was nothing to be worried about, though she knew that was a lie. The Doctor was out there somewhere, maybe dying, and she was stuck in this bloody cell. Despite her brave thoughts, she still had to fight against the urge to draw herself into a more protective posture.

The steps slowed to a stop somewhere close by, but she didn't move to the bars to peer through.

"I know that some of you are new here," a gruff voice said. "So I am going to tell you the rules. You'll hear them once, no more. Recite them to yourselves as needed, but keep in mind that any rule-breaking is a punishable offence. Death is the mildest of these punishments.

"One – you belong to me. Who you were, what your name was, what you did isn't important. You are nothing. You are a slave. You are a prisoner. Who you are, what you are, is a string of numbers stitched onto your tunics. That is your name. You will answer to it."

Rose looked at her clothing, finally recognising that her hoodie and jeans were gone. Instead, she'd been left with a coarse tunic and trousers, both embroidered with a string of numbers. A shiver ran through her as the reality of her situation sunk in.

"Two – no talking unless a guard addresses you. This isn't a place to make friends. You are here to do your job – which is anything I tell you to do."

She needed to get out of here. No question about it, she had to run. The Doctor needed her. And to escape, she needed friends. She'd have to break the rules. That was the only way she could survive.

"Three – you have no opinions. You have no rights. You are mine to do with as I please. The sooner you realise this, the better it will be for you."

Anger burned through her. How she longed to snap, to fight back, to disagree, but pragmatism held her back.

"Four – anything I say is law. Anything the guards say is law. Any breaking of the laws will be punished." The speaker was moving towards her now. When the figure stepped into the faint light outside her cell, she was surprised to discover that her current captor was an alien.

Given humanity's prejudices in this era – _Doctor_, she thought, despairing of his fate – she had a hard time believing that humans would let an alien be in charge. Unless – and she found this far more likely – this alien's position was as much a prisoner as her own.

The alien – a tall, spindly bloke with spikes instead of hair – turned beady red eyes towards her. Smiling, he asked, "Who violated the rule of no talking?"

Silence greeted the question. She knew that admitting anything would be the height of folly. But, if she didn't speak, how could she learn about where she was or even if the Doctor was alive?

No, she corrected herself. He was alive. Full stop. He had to be. She'd know if he wasn't. She had to know. The world would stop turning or her heart would skip several beats. She had to believe in him. Believe that he was alive. She desperately clung to that hope, praying that it wouldn't be proven wrong.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, 42398?" the alien asked, moving closer to the bars separating her from him.

She stiffened and glanced down at the numbers on her tunic. "Rose," she said softly, unable to stop her name from escaping her lips.

"Speak up, 42398."

"Rose," she repeated herself, meeting the warden's – at least, that was the closest she could come to a title for him – gaze. "Not 42398."

Gasps echoed around her and she knew that she'd made a mistake.

The alien's lips pressed together and with a sharp gesture another guard came forward and pressed something against the wall just outside her cell. "First violation," the warden declared as the bars slid upwards.

Freedom was an illusion as another guard came into the cell with her and fastened restraints on her wrists. She didn't bother to fight, at least not now. She would bide her time. At some point, someone would slip up and she would be able to escape.

When she was pushed into the hallway, she stumbled and was unable to maintain her balance, instead crashing painfully to the floor. As tears sprung to her eyes the warden stepped forward to touch her chin, tilting it upwards. His gaze seemed to bore into her. "You are now assigned to the infirmary, 42398," the warden said.

Though the position didn't sound too bad, she suspected that that impression was probably incorrect. Then again, it'd probably be relatively easy to escape from there. Who'd expect someone who was ill to run?

"You probably think this isn't a punishment, 42398. You are wrong. Once you go into the infirmary, the only way you can leave that post is by one of two means. Death, or if I decide otherwise. Enjoy your new position." The warden turned his back on her and she was hauled upwards by unkind hands.

"Move," a guard snarled in her ear and shoved her in the appropriate direction, away from the warden and her cell.

Her knees ached with every step, but she was determined to walk without assistance. She knew that she'd receive no help from the guards. Now that she was freed from the cell, she took the time to observe her surroundings.

One side of the corridor was a smooth wall, while the other was lined with cells. She could hear movement inside each cell that she passed, but when she tried to look inside them, she was shoved or poked by her guard, directing her to keep her eyes forward. The row of cells seemed to go on for miles. She could see that the corridor stretched onward into an impossible-seeming distance.

She didn't recall seeing a building this massive when they'd first arrived here. But perhaps, like the TARDIS, this place was bigger on the inside, or it was underground. Wherever here was.

The journey seemed to last for ages, though it was probably only a few minutes, before the guard finally ordered her to stop and keep facing forward. In her peripheral vision, she could see what seemed to be a door. Its colour was vaguely metallic in appearance, but she didn't dare turn her head to try and find out more about it.

Instead, she waited while she heard the rattle of keys and the sound of metal scraping against metal as the door was shifted out of the way.

"Turn around," the guard said.

When she turned, she saw that there was another corridor branching off this one, one that had apparently been hidden behind a door. This time, they only walked a few paces before they reached another door – only this one seemed far more solid than the last. The guard pulled something out of a pouch at his side – something that looked like a rock of some sort – and pressed it into a depression next to the door.

The door slid open with barely a sound, something that seemed astonishing after the apparent lack of advanced technology that she'd seen before. Everything else seemed to be locks and keys, something simple and easy. But this?

She was starting to doubt her chances for escape.

The guard put a rough hand on her shoulder and squeezed painfully, grinning at her discomfort. "You will go inside and do whatever the matron tells you. I'll be back for you later." The guard trailed his hand from her shoulder to her cheek in a parody of a lover's caress, leaving behind no doubt as to what he was planning for her.

She stiffened at the touch, but refused to let the guard see any trace of fear. That'd be the fastest way of making herself a target. She turned and walked away from the guard, still holding her tongue until the instant that the door began to slide shut behind her. "That's what you think," she muttered, putting as much loathing as she could into the words.

Looking around, Rose found herself in a large, airy room that was full of beds of various shapes and sizes. In one corner she could see what seemed to be babies in incubators, while another was walled off with fabric – a surgery, perhaps? It looked like the infirmary saw a bustling business. That didn't surprise her at all.

Given the guards' casual cruelty and the 'rules', she suspected that it was common for a prisoner to see the inside of this room at least once during their stay here. On the bed closest to the door, an old man was covered in boils, all of which seemed to be infected. On another, Rose could see a young girl with pointed ears cradling an injured arm to her chest.

"Oh, my dear child, are you injured?" a kindly voice asked. She faced the speaker, about to voice a denial, when the elderly woman brushed her hand against her arm. "No. There is no injury except for heartache and that isn't something I can heal."

"I…I'm sorry. My name's Ros-" she cut herself off as she glanced around the room, suddenly wary of a guard's presence.

"Oh, do not fear the guards. They do not come here unless it is to extract a patient and even then it is with great reluctance. Any injuries they have are treated in a separate ward. In here, you can tell me your name. I am Alma, Matron of this infirmary." Now that she had the chance to take a closer look, Alma wasn't as old as she'd originally thought. Though her hair was the purest white, Alma's skin wasn't wrinkled. Instead it was pockmarked. Her vivid purple eyes blinked curiously up at her.

"Rose," she said. "The warden told me-"

"You were punished," Alma completed her sentence. "That is what usually happens. None come here unless they are told. Come, I will show you around."

There wasn't much to see, she soon discovered. Besides the main infirmary area, there was a small side room full of bunks for the workers. "We sleep in shifts," Alma explained, gesturing towards the other two workers whom she introduced as Rulan and Exir. "That way someone is always awake for when they bring in the next patient."

"Are you a doctor?" she asked, trying to be unobtrusive as she searched for her friend under the guise of the question.

"No," Alma said, shaking her head. "Not in the human sense of the world. I am Trizellixan."

The name meant nothing to her and something of her confusion must've shown as Alma continued, "I can heal with a touch by taking on the injuries and illnesses of others. I cannot let people continue to suffer."

She knew the implication of that power. Here, amongst all this hurt, she'd probably push herself to the limits just to try to help. "An' what does that do to you?" she asked.

Alma's silence was answer enough.

"I-" she started, but changed tack mid-sentence. "Alma, has anyone new come in here? A tall bloke, large ears, hawk-like nose? He would've been beaten." She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering all the blood. When she opened her eyes again to look at her fingers, she could still see remnants beneath her fingernails.

Alma shook her head. "I am sorry, Rose. No-one came in matching that description. The last person to come inside before you was a man, but he doesn't sound like your friend."

She released a breath that she hadn't known she was holding and closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Surely they would've brought him here if they'd sent him to prison. Either if they knew he was an alien or if they assumed he was like her, an alien sympathiser. "Is this the only infirmary? The only place where they send aliens? Or alien sympathisers?"

"Yes."

With that single word, she felt her hope start to fade. He wasn't here. Oh, god, he wasn't here. Which meant…

She stared somewhere into the distance beyond Alma's shoulder, feeling as though something inside her was dying. "I'm alone," she whispered.

"Rose, do you know basic first aid?" Alma asked, and the sound of the alien's voice jerked Rose out of her reverie.

"Yeah, a bit. But only for humans," 'And Time Lords', she thought about adding, but that didn't matter any more, did it? He was gone.

"That is fine. Please, come with me. You will attend the latest patient. He doesn't need much, just cleaning and general minding, but it is something to do," Alma said, resting a hand on her shoulder. It felt for a moment as if a wave of calm swept over her and she felt almost numb in its wake. "It will get better," Alma told her and then ushered her across the room.

As they walked, she caught a glimpse of Exir's face and was unable to prevent the gasp that escaped her lips in reaction. Half of Exir's face was that of an almost angelic young boy. The other was horribly scarred, almost melted-looking. Alma turned to face her and smiled sadly. "That is our punishment, Rose," she said softly. "This may not seem like a punishment for now, but you will eventually learn. They will come for you at some point."

"Who will?" she asked, unable to tear her gaze away from Exir's ruined face.

"The guards. They take one of us with them every few days. When we come back - well, you can see the results."

She shivered, unable to fathom Alma's calm response. "Don't you fight back? It's not right!"

Alma's lips curled upwards in a faint parody of a smile. "Look around you, Rose. There is much that is not right here. We can only do what we are able, nothing more."

"You can fight back," she tried again.

Alma shook her head and pointed at Rulan. "Rulan tried that once, Rose. You see how the left side of his body seems to droop? That is what happened to him in the aftermath of his rebellion. Do not follow his path. For now, please, there is nothing you or any of us can do." In an abrupt change of subject, the alien pointed at the bed just in front of them. "This is our newcomer and your assignment."

She wasn't happy with the change of subject, but she knew that Alma was uncomfortable with her questions. She would try again later, she decided, when the memory of this conversation had started to fade.

Focusing on the man before her, she did have to admit that her patient – well, technically he was Alma's, though she was assigned to him – was lovely to look at. His face was slack in sleep, but she could tell from the lines around his mouth and his eyes that he was accustomed to much smiling.

It was a nice face, she decided. A kind face. And for some reason that made her miss the Doctor all the more. When she looked up again from her observation of the man, she found that Alma had left her to go attend something else in the infirmary. "Right," she murmured. The only thing for it was for her to try to determine just what had been done with him and what needed to be done.

She touched his face with the back of her hand, reminding herself that even though he looked human he probably wasn't. The skin was warm and slightly clammy to the touch, but she didn't think that was worrying. His pulse, when she let her fingers touch the side of his neck, was steady. There was a flutter of something additional to the steady beat against her fingers. A second heart?

She kept her fingers there for a moment longer, just in case, but there was nothing more. She was imagining it. Of course he only had one heart.

God, she missed the Doctor.

Rose closed her eyes, blocking out the view of her patient and the infirmary. In her mind, she could imagine that this was nothing more than a nightmare. At any moment, the Doctor would knock on her door and tell her that it was time to get up, throwing in some comment about apes sleeping their lives away.

She didn't realise she was crying until she felt a tear splash onto her hand. Opening her eyes again, she decided that the best thing she could do at the moment was to watch and wait for the opportunity to escape to present itself. She needed to know more about this place, about how big it was and the routines that everyone followed.

To do that, she had to talk to Alma and the others. But, for now, she decided to deal with the man. She couldn't keep calling him 'man' or 'sir' or even use the numbers embroidered on his tunic. John seemed like a fitting name for him, she decided.

So John it was.

* * *

Her assignments grew until she had ten patients under her care. But she would always come back to John, spending the most time, unless someone was in immediate need of her assistance, with him. 

She started cataloguing the little things about John after a while. How she could get a reaction, even though it was the faintest quirk of his lips, out of him when she touched his side. How many freckles there were across his face – 58, though she lost track at least twice and had to start again.

Taking care of him was numbing work. Cleaning him, changing the solution that fed him nutrients, shifting him so he didn't get bedsores. She discovered that it helped to dampen the grief she felt for the loss of the Doctor. Losing herself in caring for someone else was the easiest thing in the world to do, she found.

She wasn't certain when she started talking to him. Maybe it'd started an hour after Alma had first left her alone with him. Maybe it was sooner. But she found herself telling him things that she hadn't told the Doctor. Words that she wished she'd said while she'd had the chance. Words that he'd never hear.

John was a very sympathetic listener, she discovered. Even though he never responded, she always felt better after talking to him.

Alma never berated her for spending so much time with John. In fact, she encouraged it, telling Rose that this was the best way to bring him out of his coma. Hearing gentle voices, knowing that someone cared, sometimes was more than enough to bring someone back from the brink.

There were times when she wondered if that'd be enough for her. Knowing that her Mum was out there somewhere, not knowing if she was alive or dead, didn't really help. She couldn't expect any comforting embraces now. Couldn't expect to see her again.

The reality of her situation was obvious. When she escaped – there was no room for 'if' in this particular equation – she wasn't certain what she could do. She could probably find the TARDIS, but without her key – gone, along with everything else that she'd had on her person – she couldn't get inside. Without the Doctor, she doubted that she could manage to find her way home again.

For better or worse, she was stuck.

Sighing, she ran her hand through her hair, wincing when it caught on a snarl. She tried her best to keep herself groomed, but with the meagre facilities that they had – consisting of a sink and a little harsh soap – there wasn't much she could do. She couldn't keep clean here, not as clean as she was accustomed.

And there were other problems. As the day headed towards night – or what passed for it in this enclosed space – Alma and the others got jumpy, starting at every noise. Something about their movements, about the almost-panic in Exir's face, made her draw closer to John's bed, needing the fragile comfort that he offered.

It was strange, she decided, to allow herself to feel comforted in a place like this. She was far more alone than she'd ever been before. Without the Doctor…

She ruthlessly stopped that train of thought before it could go further. John's expression was peaceful and she could almost allow herself to believe that everything was all right – but how could it be when the Doctor was dead?

That was when she heard the screeching sound of the door sliding upwards. She didn't remember it being that loud when she first came here, but perhaps it was the anticipation that made it stronger. There was a clatter of something being dropped behind her and of scrambling footsteps as the others moved away from the entrance.

Rose didn't move. Perhaps it was fear that held her in place, or maybe it was simply because she was standing next to John, but she stayed as two guards and a balding man in a blue-coloured smock came into view.

They were close now, just on the other side of John's bed. The balding man looked at her scornfully for a moment before moving on, scanning the room with his gaze. The guards – including her friend from earlier, the one who'd all but implied that he would return for her – seemed to be ready for some sort of action.

She remembered Alma's words earlier, describing how the humans would experiment on the people here, how none of them were uninjured from their stay in this prison. Fear caused her palms to sweat and the hairs at the back of her neck to rise. Fear quickened her breathing and sped up her pulse.

When the balding man finished his survey of the room, he pointed his finger. "That one," he said.

He was pointing at her.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: Faith

**Chapter 2: Faith**

Someone was screaming and it wasn't her.

She knew she should be shouting, should be running, should be fighting. Something, anything, other than this. Instead, she was paralysed as the guards walked past her, cruel grins on their faces. She didn't move when Rulan was dragged, screaming, past her.

It was an almost absent thought when she realised that Rulan must've been standing behind her when the man made his choice. The relief was combined with anger when it rushed through her, finally prompting her to move.

"No!" she shouted, moving around John's bed to stand in front of the balding man.

"You have not been given permission to speak," he said dismissively, gesturing towards her with an absent gesture. "Take care of it."

She stood her ground as the guard who had originally brought her here advanced towards her, flexing his hands.

"You can't do this. These people have rights! Like it says in the-" She searched her memories, remembering the Doctor's words as he faced the Nestene Consciousness, oh so long ago now "-Shadow Proclamation." She didn't know if the Shadow Proclamation had anything about treatment of prisoners, or even if the man cared. She had to try.

The only response she got was the sharp sting of the guard's fist hitting her cheek and the subsequent pain. She didn't cry out, though tears sprang to her eyes.

"Again."

The second punch came out of nowhere. There wasn't enough time to brace for it, or to dodge. Instead, she felt the blow to her abdomen and she collapsed to the floor, curling protectively into herself.

"Again."

Now there was a foot striking her back. This time, she cried out, unable to stop the automatic reaction. Then, as quickly as it started, the guard withdrew, laughing harshly at her pain.

"Learn your place," she dimly heard the man say over the still-screaming Rulan.

She'd failed.

Those words engulfed her mind as she finally let the tears fall free. She'd tried, yes, but she'd failed and now Rulan was paying the price. Just like the Doctor.

It was only when the sound of Rulan's screams was cut off that she realised they were gone. She could move now, if she so desired. But she didn't. She couldn't, not now. Not when her bruised and battered body sent stabs of pain through her with every breath. Not when the guilt threatened to overwhelm her.

Someone touched her shoulder, a cool contact that brought with it a small measure of comfort that she didn't deserve. "Are you all right?"

She closed her eyes, trying to quell the tears and force back the pain. She couldn't respond, not yet.

"Rose," Alma said, and another hand touched her elbow, gently encouraging her to uncurl from her earlier position. "I need to see the damage."

"Let us help you," the first speaker said, and she finally realised that she didn't know that voice. Curious now, despite the pain, she opened her eyes again and let herself be shifted onto her side, blinking against the suddenly too-bright lights in the infirmary.

Alma lifted her tunic, gently touching her abdomen and her back. "No!" she said, trying to push Alma away. She'd seen what healing did to the alien woman. She didn't want to be the cause of such pain.

"Stop, Rose," Alma commanded. "You've got internal bleeding. I have to do this."

"No," she protested again, not sure what she wanted now.

"Rose," that new voice said as the speaker leaned into her line of sight. It was a shock to discover that it was John. "Please."

She searched his eyes, a deep brown rather like her own, and somehow, she found herself swayed. She stopped fighting Alma and let the other woman press her hands more firmly against her. This was the first time she'd had the chance to see the healing from the patient's perspective. She had always been the one who had dealt with the aftermath.

A strange, almost warm, tickling sensation spread through her body, washing away the pain. In its wake, she felt numb, like nothing had ever happened to her. It'd all been a dream, hadn't it? She blinked slowly, trying to concentrate, but lethargy was sweeping over her.

"What've you done?" John asked, sounding alarmed, as her eyes drifted shut.

"The healing is draining, for both of us," Alma whispered, her voice rough with pain. "We need to rest."

Their voices faded into a murmur as she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

In that hazy world between sleep and wakefulness, she thought the Doctor was next to her, his palm cool as it rested against her forehead. His concern was almost tangible as she slowly blinked to clear her eyes, trying to focus herself.

"Doctor," she whispered, rolling her head towards him.

With another blink, the Doctor's familiar features disappeared, leaving behind the concerned expression on John's face. She remembered now. The Doctor was dead. And she'd been hurt and…

"Alma!" she said, trying to sit up, but John's hand on her shoulder prevented her from doing more than half-rising on her elbows.

"She's fine. Well, as fine as she can be. Don't move just yet." John peered at her intently for a moment, seeming to categorise her responses. "How are you feeling?"

"I-" she began, but cut herself short as she tried to determine just how she did feel. For someone who had been beaten rather severely, she felt surprisingly good. Fantastic, even. The word sent another pang of sorrow through her, but she couldn't let herself dwell on it.

There was far too much to do to spend the time in mourning. "I'm all right," she replied. "Not even a twinge of pain."

"Oh, that's brilliant, that is! Can't say I've ever seen something like that healing thing that Alma did. Then again, can't say I haven't. That's the problem with not remembering who you are, I suppose."

It took her a moment to register just what John had said. "You don't know who you are?" she repeated.

"Nope. Not a clue. Though I suppose that could be a good thing. Might not want to know who I am. Nah, of course I do. I was actually rather hoping you might know. I seem to remember you," he said. "At least, you're the only familiar thing about this place. Wherever here is."

Oh. Right. Of course he'd remember her. "I was taking care of you while you were in a coma. That's probably why you think you know me."

John's brow furrowed slightly. "I suppose…" He didn't sound very convinced of that particular fact. Nor did he seem to be in any hurry to remove his hand from her shoulder.

"John," she said, realising belatedly that 'John' probably didn't even realise she was referring to him. "Sorry. I sort of named you while you were in a coma."

"Sort of?" he asked, grinning.

"Is there another name you'd like to use? I mean, do you remember your name?"

His brow furrowed as he seemed to consider her question. "It's all rather hazy. Everything's jumbled at the moment. John seems…right, I suppose. Might have to go by that for a bit, at least until I remember my real name."

"John, then," she said. "Can I get up now?"

He seemed flummoxed for a moment before he seemed to realise that his hand was still on her shoulder. "Oh, yes, right. Of course you can. Sorry, I just… Right." He ran the hand that had been touching her through his hair, rumpling it further. "Just take it slowly?"

She did, pausing only to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She still felt surprisingly good. She knew it had to have something to do with whatever Alma did to heal her injuries and a small, traitorous part of her wondered where Alma had been when the Doctor had needed her particular abilities.

No, Rose scolded herself. That wasn't fair. She hadn't even known Alma existed until she had been brought here. By that point, it was far too late.

Sighing deeply, she forced those thoughts to the side. They wouldn't do anyone any good. Least of all herself.

"All right?" John asked.

She must've been silent for too long, she realised. When she looked up and met John's gaze, she found herself caught by the compassion in his eyes. There was something so…

No. She wasn't going to start fancying someone just because they reminded her of someone she had lost.

"Yeah. I'm fine," she replied, mostly meaning it.

He frowned but moved away a bit, giving her enough space to stand. "You're sure you're not feeling dizzy or nauseous?"

She nodded and looked at him sceptically. "Are you a doctor?" she asked. "No, wait, you wouldn't know, would you?"

"Got it in one. Though I could be," he said, shrugging. "Though what type of doctor? Psychology? Pharmacology? Medicine? Biology? Archaeology? Palaeontology? Some other –ology?" He grinned. "Do you think I look like a doctor?"

Firmly ignoring the pang of hurt that shot through her at that word – one that she told herself that she'd stop using from now on – she shrugged. "Maybe."

"Only a maybe? Hmm, could be a professor of some sort. Or a bricklayer. A postman?" He looked at his feet and shrugged. "No, probably not. Not enough bunions."

She offered him a smile and stood, swaying only slightly as the blood rushed to her head. His hand steadied her and she gently shook it off. "Jus' stood up a bit too fast. I'm fine."

John didn't look like he believed her, but instead of pressing further, he asked, "So, Rose, could you tell me where we are?"

"Some sort of prison for aliens," she replied. "Local humans don't much care for aliens, it seems."

"You're an alien?"

"Feels that way sometimes." She shook her head. "I'm human, but I'm a sympathiser. This lot don't really care for that."

John's jaw clenched. "So I saw."

"You saw that?" she asked.

"The aftermath, mostly. I think it was your voice crying out that woke me up. Think I owe you one, Rose. I'm just sorry that I wasn't able to wake up sooner. I might've been able to help." Something in John's voice convinced her that he was feeling a mixture of guilt over not being able to protect her – why would he even care? – and not being able to do something to fight against this particular situation.

"It's finished for now." Though she knew that it would never be truly finished. Not until every one of the prisoners in this place was freed and humanity lost its prejudices. That was about as likely as the Doctor being alive at this point.

"For now," John echoed. "Right. So what can I do about this place? Since I'm not occupying one of these beds, might as well put myself to work."

That was right. She didn't know what happened once the people that were brought here had healed. Were they returned to the general prison population? Or did they remain here, doing what she was doing, until they died?

Instead of answering, she looked for Alma. The alien woman was stretched out on her back on one of the empty beds, fast asleep. "Alma would know," she responded, gently pushing past John so she could approach Alma's bed.

Exir, who had been attending Alma, shot her a fearful glance and practically scurried to the other side of the room without saying a word. Apparently fighting back wasn't something he wanted to be associated with.

Releasing a heavy sigh, she knelt beside Alma and placed her hand on top of hers. "Did Exir tell you anything?" she asked, somehow knowing that John had followed her. She'd seen the aftermath of Alma's healing before, of course. Generally it took a good long kip before she was herself again, but this time seemed somewhat different.

"Just that she should be waking soon," John replied. "I don't think he likes me much."

She nodded. "Could you jus' give me a moment? There's something I want to say to Alma an'…"

"You don't need an audience," he said. "Sure. I'll see if Exir'll talk to me long enough to tell me if there's something I can do to help."

Smiling her thanks, she watched as he walked away. When he was out of earshot, she returned her attention to Alma. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered, tightening her fingers around Alma's hand. She'd never meant for any of this to happen.

But that was the story of her life, wasn't it? She'd never meant for the Doctor to die, either, but it'd happened.

That was what always happened.

* * *

It was strange how things changed. Just a few days had passed since John had risen from his coma and Alma had reawakened after healing her, but the infirmary seemed a new place. Though Rulan's absence was strongly felt, and as more hours passed she knew the less likely it was for Rulan to return, it didn't seem to be as obvious.

That was mostly because of John. There was something about him, about his energy and his ability to make people genuinely like him, that seemed to make the days seem to pass that much faster, the burden to be that much lighter. Even now, when she was supposed to be asleep, she could hear the soft murmur of his voice and the answering laughter outside the sleeping area.

"He can't stay," Alma said and she almost jumped when she heard the matron speak. "I know you're awake, Rose, but you need to know. He can't stay."

"John?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Yes. He's healed now. It won't be long before the guards come to take him back to the other part of the prison. I know that you care for him."

She wanted to laugh. She didn't know how she felt about John. For some reason her feelings seemed to be wrapped in what she felt for the Doctor, which frightened her. Had she been that dependent on the Doctor that she needed a replacement?

How could she possibly replace the Doctor?

Rose sighed. "'Course I do. He's my friend. Why can't he stay?"

"It is not allowed. If they're healthy enough to work, they must work. He doesn't deserve to be punished." The unspoken 'unlike us' echoed through the room.

She clenched her jaw. "No-one deserves to be punished. Especially not here, not like this, not for standin' up for what you believe in."

"Does it truly matter?" Alma asked.

"Yes." Her answer was immediate and firm. "Of course it does." She just wished that there was something that could be done about it. Rose was getting rather tired of turning the other metaphorical cheek.

Alma sighed softly and said no more.

It might've been minutes or hours later when the commotion in the other room roused her with a start. Shouts – dominated by John's distinctive voice – as well as screams echoed through the tiny space and she stumbled out of the room into chaos.

She could see that someone was lying on the floor, but she couldn't tell who it was between the various people obscuring her view.

"Humans! You call this science? Oh, let's see if it can survive sub-zero temperatures. Oh, let's see what it takes to burn one. Let's see what it takes to kill one. Not like it matters. Not like they have feelings. Not like they're sentient. Not like they're human," John snarled.

"You were not given permission to talk, 358977," the balding man, only now visible between the shifting prisoners, replied calmly. They must've brought Rulan back, she realised. That was the only reason that the so-called scientist would be here.

"Doesn't matter. You get to hear me talk anyway. Let's talk about rights, shall we? The Shadow Proclamation? Didn't you realise that Earth signed that treaty? No, wait, your governor conveniently forgot that bit of trivia when he instituted this place, didn't he? No-one cares about this place, after all. He can do what he likes. That's where you're wrong. When the-"

That sounded familiar. So familiar. Like the Doctor, but not exactly. No, that was impossible. She knew better. John was probably a lawyer of some kind. A Doctor-ish lawyer. Or something. She shook herself out of her contemplations, knowing that it was far more important that she listen to what was happening around her rather than to her internal musings.

"Oh-ho, listen to the prisoner talk," one of the guards said, cutting John off with a laugh. "Thinks he's a lawyer, he does. Doesn't matter what you think, prisoner. Doesn't matter what you know. In here, we're the gods. And you aren't worth spit."

"Guards, show him the error of his ways," the balding man said.

Before she had the chance to say anything, to protest, Alma appeared seemingly out of nowhere. However, just from the direction of her movement, Rose suspected that Alma had been kneeling beside whoever was on the floor. "Not in my infirmary."

"We'll take him with us, then. He seems to be healthy," the guard said. "'Course, we can fix that easily enough."

Alma inserted herself between John and the guard, staring up at him. "You will not. Leave my infirmary."

"You're starting to overestimate your importance here, Matron," the scientist, at least that was who she assumed he was, snarled. "Do not assume that you are immune to my tests."

"You've done enough here," Alma replied.

"Not nearly enough, my dear. Not nearly enough." At the scientist's nod, one of the guards backhanded Alma to the ground. Despite distance between them, she could hear the crunch of broken bones as the woman collapsed to the floor.

She tried to force her way forward, but she was held back by the other patients. She could tell that John was being restrained as well. "Now I have done enough," the balding man declared.

The guards and the scientist left the infirmary, leaving silence that was punctuated by the soft crying of the other patients in their wake. The restraining hands loosened their grip and she was able to slip free, forcing herself through the bodies between herself and Alma.

By the time she reached Alma's side, the other woman's face was ashen with shock. John had moved her onto her back and was peering into Alma's eyes. Behind the two of them, only slightly obscured by the shadows, she could see the unmoving shape of Rulan. The stone flooring was shaded a deep red with Rulan's blood. From the quantity alone, she knew that the man was dead.

"Alma," she said, grasping her friend's hand. John looked at her anxiously for a moment before returning his attention to Alma.

"Rose," Alma replied. "I'm sorry."

She tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Alma had saved John's life, getting injured in the process. But that didn't explain this reaction, didn't explain why her face was so grey, why her breathing was so shallow. "You tried to heal Rulan, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question.

Alma had told her how her abilities worked. If someone was injured, she could heal them by taking on their injuries herself. However, she had to be careful. If someone was too close to death, they could take her with them.

"Had to try," Alma replied, coughing slightly. "I believe I overdid it a little."

John shook his head. "You didn't have to save me."

"Someone once told me that no-one deserves to be punished – especially when they're standing up for what they believe in." Alma reached out to touch her hand. "They were right."

"Alma, you'll be all right," she said, brushing a strand of the woman's white hair out of her face. "Don't talk. We'll jus' move you to a bed an'-"

Alma lifted her hand to press her fingers against Rose's lips. "Do not waste the effort."

"'S not a waste!" she replied, despite the muffling effect of Alma's fingers.

"It is," Alma said, letting her fingers drop to her chest. "There is nothing that either of you can do beyond giving me a promise."

"Anything," she said boldly.

"Survive. Take care of yourself and the rest, save them if you can and survive."

"Alma…" she whispered brokenly.

"Don't mourn for me," Alma requested. "Mourn for them if you must. Not me." Her fingers twitched in the direction of the others that surrounded them.

With another rattling breath, Alma relaxed. Rose didn't have to check her friend's pulse to know that she was gone.

"I'm sorry, Rose," John said softly.

She bit her lip and, looking between Alma and Rulan, anger started to pulse through her. "Sod this," she growled. "Sod all of this."

"Rose?"

"I'm finished with this place. I'm gettin' out. Want to help?" she asked.

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3: Hope

**Chapter 3: Hope**

"Don't be daft," John said and she blinked at him, shocked. "Of course I want to help," he clarified and grinned. "I seem to have a feeling that this happens a lot."

Rose gave him a questioning glance. "What does?"

"Oh, this. Stuck in some jail, needing to escape, running for our lives," he replied.

A shiver of recognition passed through her. Impossible, she repeated to herself. Completely impossible. "_Our_ lives?" she repeated, emphasising the first word.

"Well, my life. What do you think? Do I look like a professional prison escapee?" She didn't react to his antics and a flicker of sorrow crossed his face. John spread his arms wide and then looked at his tunic, smiling ruefully. "Good point. The prison uniform doesn't do my figure any favours. Got it."

He shifted again, moving around Alma's body to crouch beside her. In a quicksilver change of mood, his earlier humour seemed to be replaced by sympathy. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. "No, wait. Now _that_ is a daft question. Course you're not. I just…Sod it. Rose, I'm sorry."

"'Bout what?" she asked, deliberately misunderstanding. "Not your fault."

"I'm rubbish at this, aren't I?" John asked. She assumed it was a rhetorical question as he continued, "Look, I'll sort this-" He indicated the bodies with a quick wave of his hand. "-we can talk tomorrow about, well, getting out of here."

Rose nodded and stood, realising that her fingers, where they'd been resting on the ground, were now stained with blood. Once again, her fingers were coated with blood that wasn't hers. Firmly pushing that thought away, she started to walk towards the sleeping area, but paused and turned around, resting her hand on his shoulder. "John?" she asked.

When he looked up at her, she smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks."

He smiled faintly at her, touching her hand with his own briefly. "You're welcome. Now get some rest." He made a shooing motion with both of his hands, encouraging her to head to the other room.

"Yeah," she replied, though she doubted that what sleep she'd get would be restful.

She was right.

Rose slept fitfully that night, never quite able to relax her mind long enough to indulge in true sleep. In her dreams, she found herself walking towards someone lying on the floor. She knew what she was about to see, but her dream-self couldn't back away from this particular truth.

It was the Doctor.

His eyes were open, but glazed with death. His body was bloodied and one hand was outstretched towards her, almost as if he was reaching for her again.

_"I'm sorry,"_ she whispered, feeling the burn of tears. She didn't know if she was crying in reality, or just in this cruel dream, but the ache of loss felt as though it would consume her.

_"You left me,"_ the Doctor said and she gasped as he turned towards her. Paradoxically, he seemed to heal before her eyes, until he was able to stand up and face her. _"You left me,"_ he repeated.

_"No."_ Now she was able to take a step back, to move away. This wasn't possible. He was dead. God, he was dead.

_"Rose,"_ he said, and strangely his face shifted into John's. _"Rose, wake up."_

"No," she cried and the words were repeated again, this time with gentle insistence.

She finally realised that the words, that John, wasn't part of her dream at all. When she opened her eyes, she blinked blearily, trying to focus on the hazy form leaning over her. "Whuzzat?" she asked, unable to manage a coherent sentence, let alone a proper word.

"You were crying out," John said softly, his hand cool where it rested against her shoulder. "I thought it best to wake you."

In the dimness of the room, she was glad that he couldn't see her tears. "Thanks," she replied and wished she hadn't when her voice broke over the word.

There was a rustle of cloth and then John was sitting beside her, pulling her into a warm embrace. He didn't say anything, just held her, and for the first time in what felt like a century, she let herself finally mourn.

In the daze of her grief, she could almost imagine that she heard two heartbeats where her head was pressed against his chest. For a moment, it was as though _he_ was holding her again and, when her tears slowed to the occasional sob, she loosened her hold on John.

"All right now?" John asked.

"Yeah. Sorry you had to see that," she said, dragging her hand across her eyes in a futile attempt to wipe away the evidence of her tears. It occurred to her then that she was rather glad that she no longer could wear mascara. She would've looked a fright if she had.

"Don't apologise," John chastised her gently. "I think you needed that, really. Good thing, tears. Sometimes you've got to cry if you want to heal."

"An' you know that?" she asked, suddenly remembering her father and the tears she'd cried in the Doctor's arms after he'd died saving the world from her mistake.

"Yeah, I do. Mind, it's all in bits and pieces and it doesn't make much sense, but I know."

"You're remembering?" She firmly pushed aside her memories of her father and the Doctor and clung to this new knowledge in the hopes that it'd somehow make the hurt seem less intense.

"A bit," John admitted. "I apparently had, or else have, a fascination for scarves. And leather too, but not at the same time. Blimey, that doesn't really shed a good light on me, now does it?" She could see the flash of his grin as he continued, "But I still think you're the key to my memories for some reason. Can't quite put my finger on why, though."

She doubted it, but he already knew that. "What else do you remember?" She should probably give him a bit of space, pull away from the comfort of his arms, but she couldn't force herself to move and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to release her.

"Running," he immediately replied. "Lots of running. With and without someone at my side."

She wondered if she should be surprised by the surge of jealousy at those words. "Married?" she asked.

She could barely see his brow furrow as he considered her question, but she was also thankful for the semi-darkness. "No. Well, maybe once. Not any more, mind. But once. As for now, I suppose you could say I'm available," he said and there was another flash of his teeth as he grinned.

"I believe that my friends were running along beside me, actually. Just wish I could remember more about them. It's a bit like there's too much information in my memories, all crying to be let out. Could be hundreds of years' worth of knowledge up here." Lifting one of his hands and keeping the other loosely around her, he tapped the side of his head.

"If you do, you look good for your age," she replied, finally smiling.

"I do, don't I?" John's laughter echoed in the small room. However, he sobered quickly as he touched her cheek. "Are you up for a bit of scheming, or would you like to get some more rest?"

She let out a short bark of laughter, knowing that the dream would return the instant that she closed her eyes. "Doubt I could sleep, actually."

"Okay," he agreed readily enough. "What were you thinking of trying for our grand escape attempt?"

"That scientist-"

"He's no scientist. Doesn't even have the right to call himself that," John cut in, venom in his tone. "Sorry, go on."

"-bloke comes by for someone else every few days according to Alma," she said, continuing as though John hadn't interrupted her. She was pleased that her voice didn't break when she spoke her friend's name. Probably, she realised, because she was still worn out from crying earlier. "From what I've seen, he's always got two guards with him. Any one of them has access to the doors in this place. Problem is that I don't know the layout outside of this infirmary beyond the prison row where I woke up when I first got here. I don't know the guard's shifts or the way to the exterior wall."

"But I do," a new voice said.

Both she and John jumped as the speaker switched on the lights. Exir smiled as he leaned against the wall, keeping his body between them and the door. "So sorry for interrupting your private little moment."

"Time for my shift?" Rose asked, deliberately ignoring his comment.

"Yes, it is."

"Right, then," she said and began to gently pull herself free of John's embrace. John let her go willingly enough, but she got the impression that he was holding himself ready to pull her out of harm's way should it prove necessary.

"I can help you, Rose," Exir commented. "You need to know the guard's schedules and I know them."

"All right, I'll bite. How do you know them?" she asked.

"The scientist sometimes likes to let his toys catch a glimpse of life outside these walls. Calls it 'letting us see how our betters live' before he takes us back in for another one of his sessions." Exir's expression was dead-pan and she could see a shiver run through the man's slender frame. From this position, the scarred portion of his face was almost-hidden from her sight.

She had to stop this. No-one else should have to suffer like Exir.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Exir turned his ruined face towards her, quirking his damaged lips into a half smile. "Oh, you never know. I might not be the next lucky victim."

She knew what Exir was implying. Next time, she might be chosen. If she was, she doubted that John would stand aside and let her go. She wasn't about to let someone else she cared about die because of her.

"Doesn't matter," she replied.

"True," Exir said. "Do you want my help?"

She looked at John, but his nod implied that the final decision was hers. "Yeah, all right."

"The guards change shifts every six hours. The patrols sweep the corridor outside this room every half hour and they move through the prison wards in a circular pattern, starting from north and heading east. I can't describe the way out. I can, however, show you."

"How do you know this?" John asked, apparently suspicious.

"Another one of the scientist's fond little tricks." Exir's smile stretched into the rough parody of a grin. "Show the vermin the exit and watch him run. Then he stopped me at the last second." He pointed at the melted side of his face. "You can see the results."

She drew in a breath, hardly able to imagine the cruelty that had done this to Exir, to Alma, Rulan and all the others.

"Just take me with you," Exir said.

"Okay," Rose replied.

Soon, it became something of a tradition to meet in between their shifts, to talk about their plans and then to sometimes bring others in as well. Not everyone was willing to defy the humans. Some were too frightened, others too weak.

She refused to force anyone into doing what they didn't want, insisting that it would make them as bad as the other humans if they tried. John agreed wholeheartedly with her, while Exir tended to prefer to encourage as many people to rebel as possible.

And, while their plans matured, she found herself growing closer than ever to John. They started to spend their evenings together, talking quietly into the night about anything and everything. He never seemed to grow tired, but he'd willingly rest when she did, including the one memorable time when she fell asleep on his shoulder. She'd woken the following morning in his embrace, listening to him snore softly.

He'd share bits and pieces of what he remembered, including a few stories that struck a chord within her, almost as though she knew what they were about. It was in the middle of one of those stories that she realised that she couldn't even remember how long she'd been here. Weeks, if not months, she decided.

"You, Rose Tyler, aren't listening to me," John said, pointing at her accusingly.

"'Course I am!" she protested, even though he was right.

"I was just getting to the best part, too. If you don't want to hear about it…"

"Of course I do," she reassured him, grabbing his hand and wrapping her fingers around his.

"Okay. You see, there were these things. I call them things, mind, because without the controlling consciousness they were nothing more than lumps of plastic."

She shook herself and stared at him hard. "The Nestene Consciousness," she said, somehow remembering what the Doctor had called that vat of roiling, boiling stuff that had taken Mickey. How could John know about that? As far as she remembered, she hadn't told him this particular story. Sure, she'd told him about the Doctor, but not about how they'd met.

"That's right," John said. "Have I told this story before?"

"No," she replied, shifting her fingers so she could touch his pulse-point.

"Anyway, these things got me. I'd even had this brilliant speech worked out-"

She tuned him out as she focused on the sensation of his pulse. It was a reassuring rhythm, one that was uniquely his.

_Thud-thud-da-da-thud-thud-da-da _

With her free hand, she pressed two of her fingers against her own wrist, focusing on that particular feeling.

_Thud-da-thud-da-thud-da_

Oh God, that was impossible.

"And then I danced in a pink tutu…"

"What?" she asked, turning her full attention to him.

"You weren't listening to me again. Might start making a bloke think you didn't like him any more if this keeps up." The twinkle in his eyes betrayed the truth behind his words, however.

"John, this is important. When you were talkin' to the Nestene Consciousness, when everything went wrong, was someone else there?"

"Of course there was, Rose," he replied, staring at her intently. "Said so, didn't I?"

Impossible, she repeated to herself. But she couldn't help it. She had to ask. "Doctor?" she whispered, eyes wide.

John – no, the Doctor - grinned. "Hello."

* * *

She was staring at him, thunderstruck, barely – he assumed – able to fathom that he was who he believed he was. No, that was wrong. Who he knew he was. 

That was the problem, actually. It'd taken a while for his synapses to start firing properly. Without tannin or a similar stimulant, his memories had slowly slid back into place, just not in the right order. He'd told Rose stories about his encounter with the Aztecs as though it'd happened relatively recently, even though that had been over seven, no eight, hundred years ago. Relatively, of course.

Rose, actually, had a fair hand in that. If he hadn't had her around, he probably would still be wandering around with half of his memories. Rose! He was definitely daft, letting himself ramble on – even if it was purely internal dialogue – while Rose was looking like she'd seen a ghost.

"It's me, Rose. Really, it is." He caught her as she swayed, steadying her as best he could. He wanted to bring closer for a hug, but he suspected that that might be a bit too much for her right now. "Just didn't realise it before now. Well, I say that. Had inklings, of course, but nothing solid. Not until you said Nestene Consciousness. A bit like a call word, that. Safe word? Nah, nothing safe about the Autons."

She was still looking at him, not saying anything, just staring. He was starting to feel rather uncomfortable about that when she finally managed to ask, "H-how?"

"Ah, yes. There's this thing I can do. Suppose you could say that I can cheat death. One moment, I'm dying, the next I change. And it's a complete change, mind. Body and personality. Lots of things stay the same, of course. My memories and how I feel about-" He cut himself off and decided not to complete that sentence. This wasn't the time to go into that. Not yet, at least. That could hold until they were safely back in the TARDIS and as far away from here in space and time as he could manage.

"When it all comes down to it, it's still me. Just with prettier packaging. And smaller ears," he offered with a grin.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "I mean, if you could do this, one day I might've just woken up an' you wouldn't be _you_ any more. Didn't you think I should know about it?"

"Course I did! Just never really got around to it." He rubbed the back of his neck, silently cursing himself. Middle of a prison, in trouble, and they were having this conversation. "I've always been a bit cocky."

She gave him a look.

"All right, a lot cocky. Thought I could get out of just about anything, really. I just wasn't expecting this to happen. Rose, I'm sorry." He gave into the temptation and touched her, cupping her cheek as he was once apt to do. Still was, really. As John, he'd certainly done it enough. Wanted to… Right. He wasn't going there. "If I'd known-"

"Stop it," Rose said as she leaned into his touch. "'S not your fault."

"Who's the designated driver?" he asked.

"Thought we'd crashed," she replied, grinning at him, and hope began to rise within him. She was accepting him. She'd said 'we'.

"If you _want_ to be technical about it. You try driving next time," he challenged.

"All right, I will. Bet I can do better."

"That a challenge?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Yup."

"You're on. As soon as we get out of here," he replied.

That was the signal for the teasing mood to dissipate.

"Jo-Doctor, do-" she began, but her words were cut off by Exir's arrival.

"Rose, John, it is time!" Exir said, gesturing excitedly towards the room. "The scientist is coming."

He rose to his feet, pulling Rose up with him. "Think it's about time we start doing what we do best," he told her in a low voice.

"Yeah," she said and, together, they followed Exir from the room and into complete chaos.

Exir had lied to them. The scientist wasn't coming; he was already here, along with far more guards than usual.

"It's them! They're the ones who were planning on escaping!" Exir cried, pointing at them accusingly. "They started it all!"

"Exir!" Rose exclaimed, but the Doctor gave her hand a warning squeeze.

"Don't," he murmured. It wasn't worth it. The look he gave Exir was a mixture of anger and pity. He should've seen it earlier, really. But he hadn't, and this was his reward.

"Still haven't learned your place, have you, 42398?" the scientist asked with a sneer. "Or you, 358977?"

He grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. You see, you build a prison. And I? I escape from it. It's the simplest equation of them all. I'd say I know my place quite well. Wouldn't you, Rose?"

"No doubts from me," she replied and he got the distinct impression that she wasn't just referring to his words. No, she was referring to him. Who he was. She believed him.

He straightened his posture even more and took a step forward, dropping Rose's hand as he did so. Wouldn't do for her to get caught in the hopefully metaphorical crossfire. "And you know what I do _after_ I escape?"

The scientist apparently decided to humour him. "What?"

"I rescue the people you've got imprisoned here and then, just to top it off, I burn this place down. You see, no-one has the right to imprison someone just because they're different. Least of all someone who dares to call himself a man of science."

"Your entire plan, it seems, relies on one thing, 358977," the man said, unconcerned.

He just grinned, tilting his head slightly as he waited for the rest of the threat.

"It relies on you and your little friend's ability to walk out of this place. By the time I'm finished with you two, you'll be begging to be brought back here." The scientist's lips stretched into a grin. "Seize them."

The guards began to move in.

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4: Same Old Life

**

Chapter 4: Same Old Life

**

That was another set of bruises to add to her growing collection. She winced as she was roughly pulled to her feet by unkind hands. Under the direction of the scientist – and she was hating him even more as the seconds passed – both she and John – no, the _Doctor_ - were tied to some sort of leaning platform. Metallic-looking bars stretched from the four corners of the platform to the ceiling, but she doubted that they were metal. Metal didn't bend like that.

The stonework of the floors and walls were unadorned, probably because that made it easier to clean. The rest of the room looked like a chamber of horrors – provided, of course, that a chamber of horrors included something with blinking lights. A computer of some sort. In another life, it might've been a horror film's stereotypical mad scientist's laboratory.

No, she corrected herself; it _was_ a stereotypical mad scientist's laboratory.

"Blimey, I wasn't expecting the four-star treatment. Do we get room service? I'd love to get some of those cakes with edible ball bearings on them. Brilliant, those are. Absolutely brilliant. Who would've thought of ball bearings that were edible? Humans, that's who! Admittedly, you lot probably banned them for being too sugary or something. That'd explain a lot, you know. Most of your problems could be solved by ample application of edible ball bearings," the Doctor declared, apparently unconcerned by the sight of the rather sharp-looking instruments that were strewn across the tables beside them.

He certainly loved to ramble on, didn't he? He was probably using it as a distraction of some sort, buying them time. Oh, it was all going to hit her sooner or later, preferably later, that the Doctor was still alive. For now, she had to focus on trying to get out of this particular mess. There'd be time after this was over to consider what had happened.

Instead of answering the Doctor, the scientist - He needed a name. However, since he hadn't given them his name, she decided to call him Lex Luthor. Balding, evil, scientist-wanna-be, it worked. Sort of. - merely checked their bindings and turned to leave.

"What, finished so soon?" she asked, unable to help herself. 

"Oh, no," the scientist said, turning his head just enough to be able to see her out of the corner of his eye. "I haven't even begun."

With those rather ominous-sounding words, Luthor turned on his heel and left with the guards following him close behind. After the door slid shut behind the scientist, she tugged on her bindings, trying to see if anything was loose. There was some give in the ropes by her right foot, so she began to work on those, twisting her ankle back and forth to try and encourage the rope to loosen further.

She should probably say something, point out that she could at least free her foot, but words failed her. In so many ways, this was a typical day with the Doctor. In so many ways, it was something else entirely.

Never before had she been as aware of him, of his breathing, the coolness of his skin, his expression, as she was now. The intermingled aspects of John and Doctor collided in her mind, neither seeming to be the more dominant.

"We seem to be making a habit of this," the Doctor said, curbing her reverie before it could go any further. 

She turned her head as much as she could to try to meet his gaze. "Which part? Getting captured, tied up or threatened with torture?"

"If I said 'yes', would you try to slap me?" he asked.

She let out a short bark of a laugh, shaking her head. "I can barely move my hand, let alone slap you." For a moment, if only a moment, she almost forgot that her first Doctor had died. Then he'd do something that her Doctor never would've done and it sent a fresh pang of sorrow through her.

No, she didn't have time for this now. She could ignore her emotions for now. She'd pay for it later, but for now she needed to focus on the present. Time enough to wait until she was safely home in the TARDIS before she let herself fall apart.

The Doctor looked like he wanted to ask her something, probably if she was all right, but instead he changed the subject completely. "Can't say I'm very impressed with their knot-tying abilities," he said and she could half-see him moving in seemingly random patterns – up, down, left, right, forward, back. The order always changed, but she got the distinct impression that there was some sort of method to this particular madness.

She didn't bother to ask him if he thought he could do better. Of course he could – or thought he could, which in most cases was the same thing.

Turning her attention to her own bindings, she found that the ropes holding her right foot to the table were loosening nicely. She could probably free herself in the next few minutes, but she wasn't certain how that might help. There wasn't anything close enough to snag with her foot that might help free them.

"Ha!" the Doctor declared as, with a grunting noise, he managed to free one of his hands. "Question is, with one free hand and-"

She pulled her foot loose.

"-one free foot, what can we reach that might, possibly, be useful?" 

She scanned the bench closest to her, but besides a pile of rocks, there wasn't anything that looked like it might help. "I don't see anything."

"You'd think they didn't want us to escape," the Doctor murmured and she could hear him shifting, straining to reach something that was well out of her peripheral vision.

"Amazin' how that happens." She rolled her eyes. 

He grunted and there was a clang of something metal hitting the floor. The Doctor cursed quietly before asking, "Rose, can you reach that?"

She looked and spotted something that looked like a cross between a knife and a saw of some sort on the floor. Stretching out her foot, toes angled downwards, she barely managed to nudge the tool. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, somehow managing to get the extra amount of reach she needed to snag it with her feet, drawing it closer to herself. "Now what?" she asked, trying to figure out a way of getting it from the floor to the Doctor's free hand.

"Should've thought of that," he said. 

Frowning, she decided to try to manoeuvre the object up the table she was leaning against. She doubted that she'd be able to cut her other leg free without injuring herself, so it'd be best if she just tried to get it somewhere where the Doctor could reach. "I'll try getting it close to your hand, yeah?"

Rose was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this wasn't the best idea. The tool was awkward to move and she felt its tip come into contact with her opposite leg several times as she tried to nudge it further upwards. "See if you can reach it," she instructed, still trying to move it upwards.

The Doctor strained and she felt his fingers nudge her waist, then her hip. It was surprisingly hard to ignore those gentle touches, to ignore the tingles that spread through her body from that brief contact. Not right. Not now.

Her leg was practically contorted into an impossible shape behind her now and she winced as her muscles protested against the movement. It'd been years since she'd last had to do something like this – though not exactly like this, of course. There were no prisons or insane Lex-Luthor-want-to-bes after her when she was younger, of course.

There was no Doctor, either.

She knew exactly which phase of life she preferred.

"Got it!" the Doctor exclaimed and she felt the tool slide out from beneath her, a swift movement that stung as the blade cut both her trousers and a bit of her skin. She winced, but didn't cry out. He'd only feel guilty about it, and there wasn't anything he could do to change it.

She could hear the rough noise of the saw slicing against the rope, a scraping noise that set her teeth on edge. Every few seconds, she would face the door, expecting someone to enter at any moment and stop them.

No-one came. In some ways she wondered if that worried or pleased her. On one hand, it was rather convenient. Someone had left them alone long enough, with a room full of potential escape tools, to free themselves. She silently laughed at herself. Her time in this prison had made her rather paranoid.

Then again, Exir had turned them in. She bit her lower lip, cursing herself yet again for that oversight. She was the one who'd decided to trust him. She was the one who was at fault, no-one else. Damnit.

She just wished that she knew why Exir had turned on them. Was it fear or was it something else? The promise of freedom? But, no, that wouldn't work. With her brief experience of the humans of this day and age, there would never be any sort of freedom for any alien, no matter what they'd done.

She would tie herself in mental knots if she kept this up. 

"Cosmic thoughts?" the Doctor asked and she blinked when she realised that he'd freed himself and was now standing in front of her grinning smugly.

"Sometimes," she replied as he set about untying her. 

"I find thinking about the cosmos is rather boring, actually. It's too big to really think about, and it just gives you a headache when you try," he said as he cut the last bit of rope that held her to the platform.

He didn't move away to give her enough room to stand up. Instead, he remained where he was, his brown eyes watching every movement she made. It was a look that she'd become accustomed to when he was John. Now that look sent a frisson of anticipation through her.

Boldly, or perhaps foolishly, she stood. They were so close that she could feel his breaths across her face, see the pulse of his heartsbeat against his skin. Then he grinned, closing the infinitesimal distance between them to capture her in an enthusiastic embrace.

She returned the hug, squeaking a little when he squeezed her too tight. When he let her go, she couldn't deny that she felt bereft, but there were far more important matters to think about – like escaping.

His grin was still brilliant as he looked around the room. "Ooh, looks a bit like a mad scientist's lair. No Frankenstein, though. I've always wanted to meet Frankenstein, you know. But, alas, that was fruit of Mary Shelley's ample imagination rather than a real being. Unless, of course, you subscribe to the 'world as myth' theory of existence that Heinlein is always on about. Which is both absolutely correct and completely wrong at the same time."

"You do like to talk, don't you?" she asked before she could help herself.

He shot her a look that was tempered by his obvious amusement. "I've been gifted with the gift of gab. No, wait, that doesn't sound quite right. I've got a silver tongue?" He stuck out his tongue and made a show of trying to look at it, crossing his eyes comically. "Nope, still rather drab-looking, but I do enjoy a good bit of prattle. I'm a champion prattler, you know. Not so much in my last incarnation – I think it was the ears, too distracting for a good prattle – but now? Oh, yes, it's back."

She shook her head and moved to one of the tables, inspecting the devices that were scattered about its surface. Part of her wanted to pick up a weapon but she discarded that thought immediately. She'd seen too much brutality and pain to willingly inflict it upon someone else.

No-one deserved that, not even Lex Luthor and his lackeys. 

"Why do they do it?" she asked suddenly, not even realising that she'd voiced the question until the Doctor's rustling stilled.

"The humans of this time?"

"Yeah. Why do they single out people who are different from them? Why do they hurt those people when they haven't committed any crime? Why do places like this even exist?" Rose whirled to face him, suddenly desperate to understand.

In his gaze, she could see pride – pride in her, she knew – warring with sorrow for dominance. The grin was gone, leaving behind a sober expression. "Do you remember Platform One?" he asked, the seeming non-sequitur throwing her for a loop.

"Our first date," she finally replied after a few minutes of trying to connect the two conversations and failing. 

"Yeah," he said, his lips quirking slightly into a faint smile. "Thing is, do you remember what happened when you first saw everyone. All those blue people, the Cheem, the Moxx of Balhoon, the Face of Boe?"

She remembered it well, actually. It had just been overwhelming. Seeing all those aliens being…

Oh.

Two and two suddenly added up to four. "So the humans around here never got over that? Bein' overwhelmed, I suppose you could say?"

She held up her hand, stopping him before he could answer her. "No, that doesn't answer it. Jus' because someone's overwhelmed doesn't make them torture or enslave people. It doesn't make them kill."

"It does if they're scared," the Doctor replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "You see, it started with this great human empire, spanning dozens of worlds, that started collapsing in on itself. Got too big, too fast. The infrastructure wasn't there to support it and the humans started looking for someone or something to blame. It was their own fault, of course, but it's so very, very hard to admit your own mistakes. So it became the aliens' faults. Anyone different, anyone who didn't quite fit with the expected norm, got labelled as trouble-makers. Soon prisons like this one were popping up all over the empire."

"That wouldn't solve anything." It wasn't a question. "And that wouldn't cause 'em to be so cruel." The image of Alma's and Rulan's faces flashed before her eyes.

"No," he agreed. "That is because, to some people, power and control means hurting others, no matter the cost."

She closed her eyes, ashamed of these humans. Oh, she'd heard something similar before. Snippets of memory from watching the news came to the surface of her mind. Serbs torturing and raping Muslim Croatians just because they were different. The catch-phrase of 'ethnic cleansing' that she heard almost every day on the telly when she was younger.

"That isn't a purely human trait," the Doctor said softly, touching her chin to encourage her to open her eyes. "There're similar stories across the cosmos, actually. It'll take a war for these particular humans to realise the error of their ways. Not to mention the almost-collapse of their civilisation. In the end, some of the aliens that they were so frightened of, the ones they oppressed and tortured, save them."

"How much longer do these people have to suffer?" she asked.

"Twenty years, give or take."

"Too long," she said.

"It always is," the Doctor replied sadly, letting his hand fall away from her chin.

On its downward arc, she captured his hand with hers, flushing a little as he looked at her curiously. The instant that his fingers entwined with hers, she relaxed, feeling as though it was a homecoming of sorts. They'd held hands since he'd changed but this was different.

She supposed that that was because, this time, it was her choice to reach out to him.

"Thanks," she said softly.

He smiled and brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek with his free hand. "Any time. Now I believe we were in the middle of escaping?"

"I believe we were," she replied, grinning.

"Best get going, then," he said and led the way to the door.

* * *

He wasn't sure what he was expecting when the door slid open. A battalion of guards, perhaps. Or that want-to-be-scientist pointing a gun at him. Something of that nature, perhaps. Instead, there was an empty hallway.

A suspiciously empty hallway. 

His hand tightened around Rose's, taking as much comfort as he could from that small amount of contact. Something had changed between them. Sure, there was the whole matter of a different body and a different personality. It'd been a long time since regeneration amnesia had hit that hard, too. But that wasn't it at all.

It was easier to hold her hand now, easier to hug, easier to be close to her and to give and receive comfort. He really did lo-care about her far too much. Shaking his head, he deliberately ignored those thoughts, making himself pay attention to his surroundings.

He glanced in both directions. Paranoia was becoming something of a staple with this incarnation. Then again, everyone was out to get him around here.

Except for Rose, of course. He glanced at her and found that she was looking at him in that particular way she had. Maybe he should amend that last thought. Perhaps that should be especially Rose.

Right. Not accomplishing anything. His brow furrowed as he tried to pick a likely direction. They'd come from the left before, so that'd lead them back to the infirmary. So…

"That way," Rose said, pointing towards the right. When he looked at her curiously, she grinned. "You seemed to be a little indecisive, so I decided to help."

There was a part of him that still wanted to exclaim _fantastic_, even though that word didn't fit his lips any more. Instead, he beamed at her. "Precisely what I was about to suggest," he replied, though he wasn't certain if he was trying to claim the credit for her suggestion or for her suggesting it. First thing he was going to do when he got to the TARDIS was to make himself a nice cup of tea. Tannin would be brilliant right about now.

She laughed softly as they moved stealthily down the corridor. There weren't that many openings off this hallway and what few he found led into labs similar to the one they'd escaped from – including one that he barred Rose from seeing. Even though he knew she wouldn't thank him for it, there were some things that he didn't want her to see.

They kept moving, passing more doors leading into more laboratories. However, the hallway itself never seemed to come to an end.

"Notice anything strange about this corridor?" he asked, stopping so quickly that he ended up having to pull Rose to a stop.

He could see just the hint of her tongue in the corner of her mouth as she considered the question. There should be an Act of Parliament that prevented her from doing that. It was far too distracting. "Doesn't seem to change," she finally said.

"Doesn't-" he repeated, recognition finally dawning on him. "I was taken in by the cheapest trick in the book!"

Rose looked at him. "What?"

"Of all the daft, incre-"

She cut him off with a sharp shake of her hand. "What is it?"

"A perception filter. I was fooled by a perception filter." He aimed a kick at the nearest wall, wincing at the actual impact. "It's the same corridor. This past half hour we've been retracing our steps. Over and over again."

Rose blanched. "You mean we're-"

"Still prisoners. Freedom's the illusion here, isn't it?"

The sound of slow clapping filled the hall. He hadn't wanted to be right about this, but some times he couldn't help being so clever.

"Very good, 358977," a scornful voice said over the sound of clapping. "Ninety nine percent faster than your precursors, too. Or should I be congratulating 42398?"

He turned around to face their captor and his entourage of guards, grinning. "Oh, I'd say congratulate both of us. It was a team effort, you see. Question is how'd you get your hands on a perception filter?"

"The Time Agency is very good to us," the man replied. "I think I've learned enough here. Take them back to the lab." The scientist waved his hand and the guards moved towards them.

That was when he heard it. So low, it was almost impossible to recognise. But he did. Oh yes, he did. Good thing about his hearing, that. It was so much better than a human's.

"No," he said, straightening his posture. He felt Rose do the same at his side. 

The guards stopped, looking at each other in shock. Probably the first time someone talked back to them. He was almost tempted to dance a little jig, just because, but he didn't.

"I have something special planned for you, 358977," the scientist said.

"I can't figure it out, Rose. Is that supposed to sound ominous? Really, really ominous?" he asked, casting a glance at her, unable to stop smiling as the sound grew louder.

She was smiling at him, a rather cheeky look on her face. That look was proving to be a distraction. "I think so," she said. "But isn't he supposed to be glowering or growling or something? Threatening us with sharp, pointy objects?"

He nodded. "He obviously failed the mad scientist academy. Maybe he only made it to the hunchbacked-assistant level and decided to drop out?"

"Take them to the lab." That was definitely pressing all of the scientist's buttons. The way the other man bit out the words had to be bad for his teeth. Actually, that had to hurt.

"No," he repeated with a grin. "No labs, no more experiments, no more prison. At least, not this one."

The guards finally got over their temporary paralysis and moved to grab both himself and Rose. Two of them grabbed him, one wrapping his arm behind his back, while the other pressed something cold against his neck. Rose was given the same treatment, biting back a cry as they treated her roughly.

His hand felt far too empty the instant that she was pulled away from him. 

"Still having too much faith in your own abilities, 358977?"

"Doctor, actually. Not 358977. Just the Doctor," he corrected. "And no, not faith in my abilities, though I do have that in spades. More like faith in, oh, I suppose you could call it alien nature."

The sound had changed to a dull roar by the time the others began to notice.

"What's that?" one of the guards asked nervously.

"That," he answered, "is the sound of your little prison falling apart around you."

There was a loud banging noise and he could hear the sound of dozens of feet rushing their way. "You see, that's the problem with oppression. You keep knocking someone down, sooner or later they're going to get angry. And then they're going to want to knock you down. So that sound you're hearing? The oppressed are angry."

_To be continued..._  



	5. Chapter 5: Rebellion

**Chapter 5: Rebellion**

Rose had seen rock slides a few times in her life. Once while on holiday in Wales and the other two on different planets with the Doctor. A tiny disturbance on the side of a mountain, one small thing to change the status quo, and before too long the entire mountainside would begin to collapse.

She could even imagine it, superimposing her surroundings with a mountain, seeing and hearing it again. There'd be the slow rumble as rocks were disturbed from their resting places, the bone-rattling roar as they gathered speed and fell downwards.

That was a rockslide.

This prison was much the same. Something probably happened to cause this – perhaps it was her, the Doctor, or Alma's death. Maybe it was some combination of those three. But there was no denying that the prisoners were on the move.

The guard spun them both, keeping her as a human shield between himself and the oncoming tide of infirmary patients. From this vantage point, despite the fact that they were over fifteen feet away, she could see the seething anger and desperation in their eyes. The Doctor was absolutely right – the oppressed were angry.

There was no reasoning with this lot. They were out for revenge. They probably wouldn't be able to separate friend from foe. She'd seen something similar happen on the telly. In riots, everyone got hurt.

There wasn't enough time to react when she was shoved hard from behind and sent sprawling in front of the mob. As an obstacle, she wouldn't do much good, but that hadn't seemed to matter to the guard. She tried to get to her feet but, by the time she started to get her hands underneath herself, she was engulfed by the patients.

She might've heard the Doctor cry out her name, but she couldn't separate sounds over the angry babble of the crowd surrounding her. They weren't paying attention as to where they were walking and she gasped as someone stepped on her leg, another on her shoulder, forcing her down hard.

Her bruises were going to have bruises.

She tried curling into herself for protection; the mass of bodies in the too-narrow corridor prevented her from doing much more than that. Each time she tried to get up, she was forced back down again by someone's foot or someone's impatient push.

Suddenly someone else was there, fending people away, giving her breathing room. When she opened her eyes, she found the Doctor looking at her, eyes wild. "Rose!" he exclaimed as he helped her up, his hand grasping her own in a tight, almost desperate grip.

His free hand brushed over her body, lingering over the spots where she winced when his gentle touch hit a bruise. He was probably trying to convince himself that she was fine and she managed a smile in an attempt to reassure him.

"I'm okay," she said, trying to be heard over the sound of the crowd.

Here, surrounded by their fellow patients, they might've been alone for all the attention the others gave them. The mob's attention was on Lex Luthor and his friends and the air was thick with the promise of violence. This wasn't right. Even though the humans here were sadists, they didn't deserve this. "I'm fine, Doctor. Really." She hoped he could hear her, hoped he could understand. Nodding towards the others, she continued, "Don't let them do something they'll regret."

What she didn't say was that she didn't want the crowd to do something the Doctor would regret. No-one else should have to die.

He looked at her again, something unfathomable in the depths of his brown eyes, before he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't more than a chaste brush of lips against hers, but it rocked her to the core. He'd just kissed her.

The Doctor had kissed her.

He grinned at her as he pulled away, seeming to be almost insufferably proud of her speechlessness. "Quite right too," he said, or at least she thought he said, before he darted away. He disappeared into the crowd in an instant, his bobbing head barely visible through the bodies in between them. He was probably trying to get to the front of the mob, to try to stop them, but she wasn't certain if he could.

Suddenly realising that he was almost out of sight, she tried to follow him, finding that the miraculous openings that the Doctor had used were gone. She was left with having to push on shoulders, slipping her way through gaps that were barely wide enough for her arm, let alone her body.

She wanted to call out for the Doctor, to try to find him in this mass of people, but she couldn't. The clamour of noise was so loud that she could barely hear herself think, let alone hope to hear anyone's voice, especially not her own.

"Stop."

Somehow that word echoed, carried by the power of the Doctor's voice. In the lull that followed him speaking, she managed to force her way to the front, seeing that he'd placed himself in front of the cowering Lex Luthor and his guards.

The danger wasn't over by any means. The mob was still out for blood, but somehow the Doctor had managed to hold them back.

"He is ours," one of the patients – one of the ones she'd been looking after, she realised – growled. "Step away from him."

"No," the Doctor replied. "You see, this isn't the way to go about a proper prison break. This? This makes you no better than them." He waved at the people behind him. "You want revenge? You want them to suffer as you suffered?"

"Yes," the crowd snarled.

"Do you think that'll get your lives back? Do you think your injuries will heal and the world will be saved if you do this? Do you think that if you tear them limb from limb some sort of cosmic justice will be served?" The Doctor began to pace, back and forth, always keeping himself between the crowd and the humans. "You think that if you start doing the same to the humans, they'll treat you better? That it'll make things right?"

"Yes," the crowd repeated.

The Doctor stopped, facing the mob, looking both at and beyond her. "It doesn't. Never does. Because, before too long, you're going to find yourselves in this exact same position. Only thing is, you're not the ones trying to escape."

He turned to the side and pointed at Luthor. "You will be in his place."

Before anyone could reply, he was off again, shaking his head. "Seen it before, actually. On a hundred thousand worlds in a hundred thousand different times. It's a vicious cycle and you know how it stops?"

Someone, perhaps it was her, perhaps not, asked the right question. "How?"

"By saying no. That's it. It's the simplest response of them all. It means that this ends right here, right now."

The Doctor folded his arms and tilted his head, making it clear through his stance alone that he wasn't moving. "Well? The choice is yours now. What's the word?"

"No," the patient beside her said, and she found herself releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Brilliant!" the Doctor exclaimed, beaming. "Now then, just because we're taking the higher ground doesn't mean we shouldn't tie this lot up. Anyone have any rope?"

In short order, Lex Luthor and his lackeys were tied up in one of the laboratories, far away from any sharp objects or other means of escape. During those busy few minutes, she found herself pressed against the Doctor's side as he directed the crowd.

"What now?" she asked, looking up at him. They were free, as were the other patients, but by no means were they out of the prison. Their cell had just got a lot larger.

"Vive la révolution," he replied and waggled his eyebrows.

* * *

It wasn't easy saving the world. Well, this small part of the world. The rest of it would just have to fend for itself since he was rather busy at the moment. First things first, though. He wanted his sonic screwdriver. 

The guards had this annoying habit of locking doors behind them, which made escaping a rather entertaining endeavour of trying to either pick the right key (or rock) from the keyring he'd lifted from one of the guards or try to fiddle with them using a bit of metal he'd found in one of the laboratories.

He squinted at the particular lock that was giving him trouble, eyes refusing to focus properly. He probably needed glasses this regeneration, but he couldn't do anything about that now.

Strange that there were plenty of things that he could see clearly. Rose's smile, her eyes, her lips… He shied away from the thought. Farsighted, that was it. He was farsighted – except where Rose was concerned.

Running his free hand through his hair, rumpling it every which way, he sighed. She shouldn't be dominating his thoughts like this. There were far, far more important things to dwell upon rather than her. Like, oh, the meaning of life or some other such intellectual quandary.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Doctor shook himself, narrowing his eyes again as he moved the tiny wires in another direction. There! Just a little nudge to the right and, with a very satisfying click, the lock was open. "Ha!" he said, glaring at the door that had been his nemesis.

This would be so much easier with his sonic screwdriver. Then again, the same could be said for lots of things.

Now that his attention was no longer focused on the lock (or on Rose) he could hear the restless shuffling of the people waiting behind him. Turning his head, he met the unwavering gaze of Brice – a tall, gangly fellow with green skin. "You're certain this is the right way?" he asked.

"This is where I last saw my technology, yes." Brice had explained shortly after the scientist and his lackeys were locked up that he knew where the humans kept their confiscated alien technology.

Apparently, the locals didn't throw anything alien away, instead assuming that they could use what they found for their own benefits. In some cases, they were absolutely right. In others, well, there was a reason the storage area for mysterious alien tech was buried behind thick walls and thicker security.

He was about to say something, to reach out to hold Rose's hand, but he was forced to abort the movement halfway when he remembered she wasn't there. One of the other patients had wanted to split up – one group to find their things, the other to rescue more of the prisoners. He had selfishly wanted her with him, but she had disagreed, telling him that she had to go with the others.

"Someone has to keep an eye on them," she'd said.

He'd searched her eyes and found that he was staring at someone who'd grown up in the months that she'd been here. Something like this would age a person, and a good part of him had mourned the loss of her youth. Yes, she was more than capable of fending for herself, but that didn't stop him from worrying.

He'd nodded and, almost before he could help himself, he'd kissed her. It hadn't been a thank you kiss or a see you later kiss or anything so mundane. When he'd pulled away, he'd barely been able to focus enough to tell her, "Be careful."

He could still picture the expression on her face after the kiss had ended. A mixture of shock, confusion and desire had darkened her eyes as she'd grabbed him in a fierce, yet brief, hug. "You too," she'd replied. "I'm not ready to lose you again."

Before he'd been able to analyse her words, she'd left with half the patients, leaving him to stare after her. He hoped she was all right. No, of course she was all right. Freeing the patients was simple, easy. He had the harder job.

After all, there was no guarantee that any of the technology that the humans had lifted off the prisoners here still worked. With scientists and who knew who else tinkering with objects, it truly was a wonder that there hadn't been any explosions from careless mistakes.

Trying to distract himself, he began to categorise the simple differences between the prisoner areas and those reserved for the humans. Where the torture and experimentation areas were bare – easier to clean up after the messes that their 'experiments' would inevitably leave behind - this hallway was actually rather well appointed. Carpeting lined the floors and several simple, yet somewhat elegant prints adorned the walls.

The dichotomy between prisoner and the privileged couldn't be more obvious. The people who routinely walked these corridors had never suffered, had never been the subject of experiments or torture. The people who lived here had never been prisoners in anything other than their minds.

It wasn't right. None of this was right. History had already painted the picture of this world and its peoples. He knew what was supposed to happen, what would happen. In some ways, he supposed, this particular escape wasn't in the history books. He'd changed it just by the fact of his presence.

There was no guarantee that this would've happened, that anyone would've been killed, if he hadn't been here. Too late now, of course. What was done was done. Too many had suffered, too many had died, for him to let this continue. He would see to it that this place burned.

Brice's sharp gesture pointing towards one of the doors caught his attention. "This is it."

He squinted at the door, dismayed to discover that this particular locking mechanism had a depression that was rather obviously stoned-shaped. His earlier methods of simply picking the lock would not work here. Instead, he had to hope that one of the two stones he'd borrowed from one of the guards was an all-purpose key.

Slipping his hand into his pocket – this was why he preferred his own clothes; dimensionally transcendental pockets were a must for a Time Lord – he pulled out the first stone. Pressing it against the depression, he waited for a few seconds before he twisted it sharply to the right.

Nothing.

Dropping the discarded stone back into his pocket, he withdrew the second and repeated the motions. This time the difference was rather dramatic. The stone lit with a pale yellow glow for a moment before the door depressed and slid to the side with a loud rumbling noise.

"They do seem to love their dramatics around here," he murmured as he walked into a room that looked like this century's answer to a pawn shop. Every piece of equipment and lump of metal imaginable – and he could imagine a lot - was scattered over every available surface.

The others piled in behind him and immediately scattered, exclaiming over things that they'd thought were lost and things that they didn't recognise. He was still scanning the room when he was distracted by someone lifting up a very familiar-looking object.

"The technology I understand. What I don't understand is why anyone would want to keep this," a blue-skinned woman exclaimed, holding up his leather jacket like it was contaminated. "It's just clothing."

"Oi! That's mine!" he exclaimed, reaching out for the jacket.

The woman dropped it into his hands, wrinkling her nose at him. "Why would they keep it here?" she asked.

"Oh, that's simple," he replied, slipping it back on over his prison uniform. It felt wrong, yet completely right at the same time. He'd really have to narrow down what sort of outfit suited him best, but for now it was far better than what he was currently wearing.

He reached into the jacket pocket and started to withdraw the various bits and bobs he tended (had tended?) to carry around with him. A bit of string, several nuts and bolts, a colourful rock, his psychic paper, a signed copy of The Signalman, and, best of all, his sonic screwdriver. "Transdimensional pockets!"

The woman stared at him in shock. "That's…why didn't they empty the pockets?"

"You've got to know what you're looking for in order to pull it out," he replied. "Then again, I've probably forgotten half the things in here. That's the problem with transdimensional pockets and long life-spans. You do tend to forget what you've put in there. Why, one time I-"

"Forget I asked," she interrupted him, moving away from him as fast as she could.

He was left blinking in her wake. "Was it something I said?" he asked.

* * *

Rose kept her pace steady, not letting herself falter or look back much as she wanted to. The Doctor had kissed her. It wasn't the soft brush of his mouth against hers that he'd given her before. No, this was a kiss. A real, honest kiss with just the briefest hint of his tongue touching her lips. 

God. Even the thought of it was enough to make her weak at the knees. He'd kissed her. Her! And she hadn't even thought, even realised, that he did that sort of thing. He'd always been so aloof (not any more). He'd hold her hand, give her hugs, even give her looks that made her wonder if he thought of her in that way. But not this.

The first kiss he'd given her could be passed off as something between friends. She'd certainly done so. This was the Doctor.

_Different Doctor_, her mind contributed helpfully, but she refused to dwell on that particular aspect of their already confusing relationship.

This kiss – no, snog – was definitely not something between best mates. She released a heavy sigh, blowing the air through her lips in a whistling breath.

"He's a nice man, your John," an older woman said softly as she matched Rose's pace. "You chose a good mate."

There was no mistaking the inflection on the word 'mate'. Then again, they had been snogging in full view of, well, everyone. Of course they'd think that. "Er, yeah, well, we're not like that," she mumbled, flushing. Shouldn't there be a door out of this area nearby? Something that they'd find soon? Like now?

The woman chuckled, a knowing look in her eye. "Oh, me and my Mil weren't like that either. We weren't like that for over fifty turns."

She swallowed nervously, not letting herself go there. They weren't like that, she reminded herself. Just friends. No matter how good a kisser he was.

Right?

Great. She couldn't even convince herself.

Oh, good. There was the door. One of the other patients – Dik, Dim, Dill, something like that – hurried to it and started selecting keys to try from the keyring they'd appropriated from the second guard.

It took a few minutes to find the right one and, after opening the lock, they left the door open as a safe exit. Ahead of them lay the cell corridors where the rest of the prisoners were normally kept. Surprisingly, she didn't hear any alarms. Perhaps they were lucky and no-one had noticed their escape.

They could use that to their advantage.

She could see controls set into one of the walls. Blinking lights flashed on and off in seemingly random patterns. But one thing stood out amongst those lights - the large red button inlaid with the word 'open'.

"Only one way to find out," she said and, before the others could react, she crossed the short distance and pressed the button.

Almost immediately a siren began to sound, filling the corridor with its echoes.

_Door release in ten seconds. Door release in ten seconds_, an automated voice said over the speakers.

"That went better than I thought." Rose counted down with the voice and, on the count of one, the sound of hundreds of doors clanging open caused her to wince and wish for a set of ear plugs.

However, somewhat strangely, she didn't hear anything else once the ringing of the metal faded to silence. There was some murmuring, but nothing else. Certainly no footsteps or cheers or anything she'd expect from people who'd just been set free. Frowning, she walked forward, just enough so she was able to look down both ways of the connecting corridor. Ah, there. She caught the briefest glimpse of a curious face peering out, then darting back in when they saw her.

They were scared. Of all the daft things, of course they were scared. Probably thought she was a guard or else someone who'd hurt them. Which meant it was up to her to encourage them to come out.

"Oi! You lot in the cells! The door's open for a reason, you see. An' that reason is very simple: you're free. You probably don't believe me, and in your place I probably wouldn't believe me either. But it's true. There are no guards here. No wardens or humans tryin' to hurt you. There's just a group of people just like you who decided enough was enough. We fought back. And this is the result. Thing is, I can't make you come out of your cells. That bit's up to you. I'm just here to tell you that the option's there if you want to take it. We're getttin' out of here and you're welcome to join us. If not, well, it's gonna get rather lonely in here very, very quickly."

The silence that followed her words almost seemed loud. Loud. The announcement! Surely the guards would've heard that. But where were they? Biting her lower lip, she turned towards Dak – or was it Dik? "D'you know where the guards keep their offices?"

Dak shook his head. "I do not. There may be others who do."

"We need a group to go find them. Lock them up, tie them up, knock them out, whatever. Don't kill them, though. I jus' don't want them wandering in on us now," Rose said.

Dak nodded. "Yes." He paused and gave her an unintelligible look. "There will be no killing."

It was only after he'd left that she realised she'd actually given an order. Since when had she become a leader? Shaking her head, she watched as more and more people began to emerge from their cells, crowding the area until there was barely enough space to breathe, let alone move.

"Is this everyone?" she asked the nearest person.

"No," she replied, her multi-faceted eyes reflecting rainbows in the lighting. "There are sixteen more prison blocks such as this one."

She frowned. This would take a while. And it did. Their numbers swelled with each group to the point where she found that she wasn't even needed any more. So, while the others were distracted, she managed to slip away. She wanted to get back to the Doctor.

Retracing her steps, she found the empty corridors extremely disconcerting. Every step she made echoed ominously and her imagination had guards hiding around every corner. Thankfully, it'd just been her imagination.

She could hear the Doctor's voice in the distance now and her steps quickened in an automatic response. She didn't know how he'd react to seeing her again. Would there be another snog?

Rose sighed. She really was dwelling on that far too much. Rounding the corner, she scolded herself. It wasn't like he-

She froze mid-step. Hardly anything of the scene before her registered. Not the startled faces that turned towards the door. Not the equipment piled on the floor. No, the only thing that registered in her mind was a black leather jacket.

The last time she'd seen that jacket, it'd been covered in blood. His blood. The Doctor's blood. She barely realised that she was shaking when the man wearing that jacket – the Doctor, her mind helpfully supplied – turned towards her.

"Rose!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

She couldn't answer. She was staring at that jacket. His jacket. _Her_ Doctor's jacket.

Oh God. The Doctor, _her_ Doctor, really was gone, wasn't he?

"Rose?" the new Doctor asked, reaching a hand towards her. "Rose, answer me, please."

In a small, almost terrified voice she replied, "He's - you're - dead. Really dead. Aren't you?"

_To be concluded..._


	6. Chapter 6: Love

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. I apologise for the delay in posting this last chapter. But, sadly, illness kept me from writing._

* * *

**Chapter 6: Love**

With seven words, just seven, the foundations of this incarnation began to crack beneath him. Despite what he'd done, what he'd said, she still hadn't accepted him. He was the Doctor, but to Rose Tyler he was an impostor.

He was a fool. A complete and utter fool. Rassilon knew there was a very good reason this sort of thing was frowned upon. Consorting with less advanced races, letting himself care for them far too much. He should've known. But he didn't, he hadn't, and this was the result.

He tried to harden his hearts, but he couldn't. Not when her face was tear-streaked, not when she needed answers, not when she needed him. But she didn't, did she? She needed the old him.

"I'm still here," he said softly. He touched her cheek and immediately dropped his hand when she flinched in reaction. "Rose…"

She shook her head, hiding her eyes behind the curtain of her eyelashes. "I kill-" she began and then cut herself off, her shoulders shaking in response to her silent sob.

He was suddenly completely aware of their surroundings, of the audience of former prisoners who were witnessing this particular reunion. The last thing he wanted for her, or for himself, was for this conversation to happen here. Intellectually he knew it had to happen, should happen.

He'd only been fooling himself when he'd thought she could look past his appearance to the man he always would be without some sort of fallout. Traumatic experiences and all that. She'd seen him dying, beaten to the point where the only possible way out wasn't a healing trance – it'd been regeneration. And he hadn't told her.

Of course it'd have to hit her eventually. Only logical that it'd happen when she saw his old jacket. That didn't mean that her reaction didn't hurt. He'd harboured a hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd be past this. He was still the Doctor. He still cared.

She wasn't past it, though. Possibly never would be.

He swallowed painfully and turned towards the others, rubbing his hands together. "There's something I've got to do with Rose. Er. Something we've got to do. Together. Away from here. Alone."

Some of the patients exchanged knowing glances and he wondered if he should be offended or pleased by the implication. He decided on neither.

"I'll be back," he said quickly and, before the others could say anything, he grabbed Rose's hand and whispered, "Run."

Surprisingly enough, she did.

Finding the exit was surprisingly easy, actually. It was getting to said exit that was hard. Between the released prisoners heading towards freedom and the one contingent of guards who were stubbornly keeping their posts despite the anarchy of the prison (quickly taken care of by the rather clever use of prattle and sleight of hand – and locking them in a broom cupboard) he was astonished that they'd made it out of the prison without any true difficulties.

Locating the TARDIS was another matter entirely. The surroundings of the prison were unfamiliar to him. Mountains were partially hidden by the wall that loomed over them. Searching his admittedly spotty memory, he tried to recall their arrival on this planet. He remembered a city of some sort, lots of sounds and colours, but he couldn't remember seeing mountains.

Rose stood at his side, barely acknowledging him beyond her grip on his hand. She hadn't dropped it, so that had to mean something positive. At least, that was what he hoped.

"Rose, do you remember seeing mountains when we first arrived here?" he asked, daring to breach the silence between them.

She blinked, her eyes focusing on his when she turned to look at him. Only the reflexive glance at the leather jacket and the hint of moisture in her eyes betrayed her continued unease. "Um, yeah, I think so. When Colonel S-Shanks was…" Her voice broke and she looked away, hiding her reaction from him. He tried to draw her closer, to touch her shoulder, but she shook him off. "I think I saw mountains behind 'im, but I was more concerned about the Doctor – you - at the time."

He wanted to ask more, but he held his tongue. That could come when they reached the safety of the TARDIS. He wanted familiar surroundings around them both when the truth came out. "Closer than this? Further away?"

"'Bout the same, I think," she replied.

Frowning, he scanned the area. Surely there'd have to be a path or a teleporter pad or some indication that civilisation was near. Yet there was the possibility that they wanted to keep their prisons as far away from their cities as possible. If they did, well, that wouldn't be good. In fact, that'd be terrible. He certainly couldn't remember the name of the city where they'd landed.

The Doctor scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand. This could turn out really, really badly.

Prowling the perimeter of the prison, he tried to learn more about the area as well as a means of getting back to the TARDIS. Apparently, the place was actually situated at the top of a hill. Off to one side of the prison, he discovered a footpath that wound its way downwards, heading towards a mass of buildings that seemed to stretch deeper into a valley.

No wonder he'd missed it before. Looking out, rather than down, all he'd see were the mountains in the distance, not the city below. That had to be where they'd arrived.

Rose was quiet as they began to pick their way down the path to the city. It wasn't wide enough for her to walk beside him, so he had her walk behind, where he could catch her should she fall. That position had the disadvantage in that he couldn't see her face, let alone tell what she was feeling, thinking. For all he knew, her emotions were spiralling out of control and the first words out of her mouth when they reached the TARDIS would be to take her home.

His hearts skipped a beat at that thought. Though the thought of her leaving was terrifying, he knew he'd let her go if she asked. He didn't want to keep her against her will, much as he knew losing her would break him.

Shaking his head, he forced those thoughts to the wayside. There'd be time enough to deal with it if - or when - it came.

By the time they reached the city, the sun was well on its descent into night. It was amazing, really, to consider how much one could miss something when it was gone. He'd almost forgotten the sun, the sky, and the stars. Almost forgotten what it was like to breathe clean air – well, somewhat clean air, he amended. It was, after all, a city.

He kept them to the less populated areas, places where, hopefully, their prison clothes would be ignored. The coarse grey fabric stood out amongst the myriad of colours that the locals adorned themselves with. The few times that they did have to walk amongst the natives, they were treated with suspicious glances and at least one person shouted for the police when they spotted the numbers adorning their clothing.

Running again, they hurried through the labyrinthine streets guided only by the sonic screwdriver and Rose's spotty memory. The months since they'd last been here had taken their toll – both on Rose's memory and on his patience. He longed to see his ship again, to hear her hum, to be home.

When he finally saw the TARDIS again, all he wanted to do was to hug her. His beautiful, fantastic ship. How he'd missed her. Sometime in the interim between when they'd left her and when they'd returned, the TARDIS had been decorated with graffiti. Something that looked suspiciously like 'Bad Wolf' had been painted on the side, but he ignored it. Didn't matter. He could sort that with a few buckets of soap, water and a good dosage of elbow grease.

They were home.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key, smiling as he slid it home and unlocked the door. The TARDIS reached out to him, scolding him in hums and groans for the length of time she'd been alone.

"Hello, old girl. Sorry 'bout that. Won't happen again," he said, patting the nearest wall and the TARDIS's hum deepened in response.

Rose walked past him, her expression practically etched in stone. He expected something different. At least he thought he had. Maybe disbelief that she was home. Maybe immediate anger or a demand to be returned to the Powell Estates. Not this. Not this silence, this unnatural stillness.

He looked at her, dropping his hand from the wall. "Rose?" he asked.

She spun towards him and her expression crumpled. Ignoring anything, everything else, he hurried towards her, reaching out to gather her to himself in a tight embrace.

"You died," she said, curling her fingers into a fist to hit his chest. "You died! And you died and you left me, but you're still here and I don't know what to do any more."

"Rose, it's still me, honest it is. Please, Rose, believe that if nothing else," he begged, unable to withstand her tears. He'd do anything to wipe them away, anything at all.

"You never told me that one day this'd happen; that one day you could change. You'd be you, just different an' I'd have to learn to lo-" She cut herself off with a sob, still hitting his chest and he let her, telling himself that he deserved it.

"Rose, I know it's difficult-" he began, but she interrupted him with a quick shake of her head.

"Difficult? Difficult is bein' convinced that you were dead. I don't care that I was stuck in a prison. I don't care that they were cruel there an' people died. I don't care about that. What I care about is that I never really got the chance to process that you were gone. An' I don't mean this you, I mean the last one. The one who took me to places I never thought I'd get to see. The one who changed me for the better."

It was his worst nightmare come true. She couldn't get over the last him. The next words out of her mouth would be that she wanted to go home. He'd best get it over with, then. Maybe it'd hurt less if he did it instead of Rose.

He wanted to laugh at that thought. Impossible. No matter what, it would hurt.

"I can't change back, Rose. Even if I wanted to, I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't. If you want, I can set the coordinates now. Can have you home in time for tea. You won't have to see me again." Every word felt like he was ripping out his hearts, but he had to do it. For her, he'd do it.

She shook her head and leaned into him, releasing her fist enough to hold onto his lapel. "I don't want to go back to London and I don't want you to change. That's what makes this so difficult. Because you know how I made it through all those months? You know how I managed to survive this long? It was you. Started with John, who was you but not exactly. And ended with you, this you, the whole you. And, god, it's such a mess. I was fallin' for him, for you, and it's just…I'm so confused.

"'Cause you don't do this sort of thing. This domestic thing. At least, you never used to an' I just thought new you, yeah? Maybe it's different rules, but how can it be? It's still you, and I'm giving myself a headache," she said, hiding her face against his chest.

He swallowed, hardly daring to believe that he understood her correctly. "And I thought I was supposed to be the one that prattled on in this relation-partner-whatevership this is," he teased her gently. "Thing is, you're absolutely right. I am a new Doctor. Still me, just nicer packaging. And you know what?"

She shifted in his embrace, pulling away just enough to look up at him.

"Sod the rules," he said and leaned down, giving her all the time in the world to pull away if this wasn't what she wanted.

She didn't pull back; instead she leaned up to meet his lips in another kiss. When they broke away, she smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand. "I think I like this new Doctor," she said.

"Only like?" He did his best to pretend to be hurt.

"Ask me later," she replied. "Got to see you in something other than these prison uniforms to really be able to tell."

"Are you saying that you only like me for my dazzling sense of fashion? I'll have you know that grey-with-numbers is the latest fashion craze on Nebulux."

She shook her head. "Yeah? Remind me never to go there."

He grinned. "All right, Rose Tyler. Just for that, I'm going to go and change." He paused, wrinkling his nose as he thought about it. "Actually, I'm going to take a shower, then change."

"Oh, a shower!" Rose exclaimed. "Hot water! Real soap!"

"And shampoo!" he concluded. "And our own clothes!"

Later, he could've sworn that they had left flames in their wake as they raced towards the bathrooms.

* * *

Rose stared at her reflection, cataloguing the changes that months of prison life had wrought upon her body. She was thin, almost too thin thanks to the quality of food they'd been given. Her skin was dry and wasn't its usual colour. But the biggest change was in her eyes. 

She'd grown up some time in between losing and regaining the Doctor. She reached out hesitantly, tracing the lines of her face in the mirror, feeling as though she was learning the appearance of a stranger. A smile tugged her lips upwards at the thought. There wasn't just a new Doctor to know, was there?

There was a new Rose as well.

Sighing, she turned away from the dressing-table and discovered that the clothes she had laid out had been changed for something a bit smaller in size. Patting the wall, she mentally thanked the TARDIS for the courtesy, not really wanting to know just how much weight she truly had lost.

The feel of soft fabric against her skin was heavenly and the temptation to curl into her soft bed was strong, but she knew that there still was work to be done. The prison – the taint of that place was starting to fade thanks to distance and being surrounded by familiar, comforting things – needed to be dealt with.

Pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail, she headed for the console room. Even after all this time, the way was still as familiar to her as though she'd walked it for every one of the days she'd been gone. She trailed a hand along one of the walls and murmured, "It's good to see you again."

It might've been her imagination, but she could've sworn that the TARDIS's hum deepened in response.

Smiling now, she hurried through the corridor and into the console room, only to come to a halt just inside the doorway when she saw him waiting for her. Before, she might've thought the pin-striped suit and trainers combination rather tacky. Now, all she could tell was that it suited him. Just as much as the dark leather jacket, jumper and jeans suited his previous incarnation.

"What do you think?" he asked, shifting nervously.

She took her time, letting her gaze slowly travel up his body and enjoying the way he fidgeted in response. "I dunno," she replied, grinning. "Thought you preferred the grey-and-numbers look."

"Rose." There was a definite warning in the way he said her name.

"Got a bit of a professor fetish you want to tell me about?"

He didn't even bother to respond verbally, instead giving her a much put-upon look.

"I like it," she admitted and was rewarded with one of his brilliant smiles.

"Good. How about we take me for a test drive? Er, I mean, we need to go back to the prison. Wearing this. Well, I'm wearing this and you're wearing that and-"

She closed the distance between them and placed her finger on his lips, dropping her hand back to her side only when he stopped talking. Something told her that it would be difficult to keep him from babbling. "I think I understood you the first time."

"Of course you did," he said, straightening his suit jacket almost primly. "Come on, then. We've got a prison to burn."

He held out his hand and she grasped it with her own, giggling as he all but dragged her to the doors.

* * *

There was something cathartic about watching the flames climb high into the night sky. Their return to the prison had almost been unneeded, despite their own need for some sort of closure. The former prisoners had been surrounding the building; the guards had run for their lives and now the prison itself was on fire. 

"Never again," one of the prisoners growled. "Never again."

In the flickering light, Rose could see the Doctor's expression and knew it matched her own. When the Doctor had initially explained how this society had taken shape, she recognised it for what it was – history repeating itself. For some time, it would be better. New civilisations would rise and others would fall. But, eventually, the same thing would happen again.

In time, everyone forgot what they'd been fighting for.

"Let's go home," the Doctor said softly, curling his fingers around hers.

Together, they walked away from the heat of the fire and the sounds of celebration. The former prisoners were already starting to drift away, to find their own means of escaping the planet. The burning of the prison was purely symbolic. This human civilisation couldn't and wouldn't change overnight because of this event.

But maybe, just maybe, it might help.

The journey back to the TARDIS was spent in silence. She felt no urge to breach the quiet with words, content instead to dwell upon her own thoughts. It'd been a long few months. She suspected that, if she had her way, she could sleep for days.

In fact, she probably needed to. There was just so much to process – the prison, the Doctor, herself and the changes that their relationship had undergone. Sleep would probably help with that. Possibly, she amended. There were no guarantees in this life.

It seemed a lifetime ago when she'd last considered the aftermath of one of their adventures. The Doctor had always preferred the 'run away from the past' method of dealing with whatever had happened. The only time she'd seen him react, truly react to what had happened was after the Dalek.

She wondered if he'd deal with what happened now, or if this new Doctor had other methods of avoidance. Only time would tell.

The Doctor unlocked the door to the TARDIS and ushered her inside. Suddenly, the silence that had been comfortable grew strained, expectant. She found herself watching his lips, wishing that he'd close the distance between them once more.

She broke the silence, gesturing towards the interior of the TARDIS. "I'm going to…"

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll just send us into the Vortex. We can decide where we want to go next after you've rested."

She nodded, feeling vaguely disappointed as she headed for her room. It occurred to her as she went through the familiar, yet not-so familiar, motions of getting ready to sleep that this was the first time she'd be sleeping alone since this entire thing started. Before, she'd always hear Alma's soft breathing or John's as she settled in for the night.

Before, she'd feel John's arms wrapped around her, stealing an embrace or a quick cuddle before sleep stole her away. Strange, really, how a few months could change the habit of a lifetime.

Turning off the light, she lay down on her bed and pulled the duvet over herself. She was home, she reminded herself. In her own bed, with her own, real life back. Some things were bound to change.

Her thoughts turned to the Doctor and to his words about not caring about the rules. The memory of his kiss burned and she wondered just how long this would last. It was both easier and harder to imagine this Doctor doing domestic. Hugs and kisses were one thing. The way he looked at her, the way he made her feel, was something else entirely.

God, she loved him.

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. Oh she knew she loved him, had always known, but this? It was the first time she'd thought the actual words. She knew he loved her, though he'd never say the words.

Sighing, she turned onto her side and stared blankly into the darkness of her room. She could almost imagine that he was with her, hearing his breathing, feeling his touch. Sadly, it was only in her mind.

Punching her pillow, she changed positions and closed her eyes. Sleep remained stubbornly elusive thanks to her too-awake mind.

She missed him. He was right here in the TARDIS, not even more than a few corridors away and she missed him. It wasn't that she was still mourning her first Doctor - it was that she missed _him_. John. Her new Doctor.

She'd become accustomed to sleeping with him nearby, to the comfort of his presence. She told herself that she was being particularly daft, but that didn't stop her from throwing off the duvet and getting out of bed. Nor did it stop her leaving her room.

By the time she found the Doctor, she was already well on her way to convincing herself to turn around. She'd have to learn how to sleep without him sooner or later. However, seeing him chased away her doubts.

She could barely see the shape of him in the thin beam of light cast from the open door, but it was enough to tell that he was in his bed, probably fast asleep. She envied him that ease, even as she was disappointed by it. Apparently she was the only one so affected by their stay at the prison.

This was a rare occurrence, though. She rarely caught him asleep before. She well remembered the first time that she had seen him sleeping. Stupidly, she hadn't been able to resist teasing him for pretending to look down on her for sleeping her life away. Even he needed to sleep.

His eyes had been haunted when he'd replied, "Everyone needs to sleep sometimes. Some just choose to avoid it for as long as possible."

After the Dalek, after hearing his screams echoing through the TARDIS as he'd relived the War, she knew why. In sleep, he dreamed.

Feeling a bit like a voyeur, she edged inside, telling herself that it'd only be for a minute. She could look at him, hear him breathe, and then go back to her room. They were both safe and home. That was what mattered in the end. Just that measure of reassurance would be enough.

She could almost make out his expression when he spoke, startling a squeak of surprise from her lips. "Rose? What're you doing?"

A blush heated her cheeks as she stammered a reply, "I, um, couldn't sleep."

She could imagine a thousand responses that he could give, a thousand different ways of defusing the sudden tension in the room.

He used none of them.

Lifting the duvet in an unspoken invitation, he moved to make room for her if she so chose. She did choose.

Sliding in next to him, she found herself pulled into a loose embrace, her head resting against his bare chest. "I missed you," she confessed, suddenly feeling as those three words were the most important in the universe.

"And I, you," he replied, brushing a feather-light kiss against her forehead.

"Seems silly, doesn't it? Few months on my own – though not really – an' I can't even-" She shook her head, unable to complete the thought.

"Rose," he said and something in his voice caused her to lift her head to look at him. Though his eyes were shadowed, his gaze still burned, causing a chill to run down her spine. "You don't have to…I mean, you can. Of course you can. Free universe and all that. But if you want we can, I mean you can, stay here. If you like."

He seemed to take her silence as a denial, cutting in before she could do more than start to form a reply. "I just mean sleeping. Not that I'd necessarily object to…I mean, your mum'd regener-"

Mum. Oh, god. She hadn't even thought of her own mum. What kind of daughter did that make her? She should call her, at least let her know that she was alive. Something.

Those thoughts were arrested the instant that he leaned forward and she could see his expression, his fear. "Rose?" he asked, apparently trying to prompt her to reply.

"Let's take it slowly, yeah? Sleep first. Tomorrow we'll go and see Mum," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He flinched at the mention of her mother. "She's going to regenerate me," he warned her.

"Nah, I'll fight her off. Not ready to lose you again," she said, barely realising that she'd given voice to the fear that had been buried so deep within her mind.

"You won't lose me," he said softly, stroking her hair.

"You can't promise that." The humour of the moment was gone, replaced by something far more serious.

"I can and I just did," he replied. "You see, some things stay the same no matter how many times I regenerate."

She didn't ask if there was a limit to how many times he could come back from the dead. She knew her feelings wouldn't, couldn't change. He didn't ask if she could promise not to die. No-one could promise that. All they could do was promise to try.

"What's that?" she asked, shifting so she was able to watch his expression.

He didn't answer in words.

His answer was a long, slow kiss.

_**"And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." - 1 Co 13:13**_

**END**


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